Only For You
by bconn369
Summary: When a former witness goes missing, Mary and Marshall are called in to help find him. But when things turn topsy turvy, they discover that things are much scarier than they ever imagined...
1. Chapter 1

So I decided to go for a little more angst and adventure in this story. Hope you all like it! It starts a little slow, but it willpick up pretty rapidly.

For our story purposes, Bobby D has not left for Chicago, and Eleanor did not go work for the FBI. It's just more fun having them around, don't you think?

**DISLCLAIMER:** I own nothing at all related to IPS except for my DVDs and the hope of finding out that Marshall is real.

* * *

"No, Mom, I will _not_ help you pick out drapes for Brandi and Peter's place…because I couldn't give a damn on if they have drapes or not! Put bars on their windows so Peter can't escape, that's my suggestion." Mary threw her bag on the floor by her desk, ignoring her partner's bemused stare from across the room. She rolled her eyes as her mother continued to rant into the phone. "No, Mom, no, no, no, no. How many no's do you need to understand?" The tirade continued into her ear and she held the phone away and looked at it incredulously. "Brandi won't care that I don't care, Mom. She should be doing this anyway, not you. I have to work now, bye." With a heaving sigh she closed her phone and tossed it onto the desk, then flopped her body into the chair, closing her eyes.

"Ah, morning conversations with Jinx," Marshall said with a smile, leaning forward on his elbows. "My favorite breakfast side dish. There's no better way to get you in the mood for Monday."

"In the mood for dismemberment, maybe, and hey, why not on a Monday?" She sat forward and looked at him. "And you don't have to take such pleasure at my crappy family moments."

"I know I don't, but I do," he said, his smile growing. "It's almost like an addiction. I know I shouldn't, but it feels so good when I do. And I think you would be a big help to Jinx on the draperies selection. I said as much when I saw her last week."

She leveled a glare at him. "You need help."

He shrugged, still grinning.

"Inspectors, we've got a situation," Stan announced as he came out of his office.

"Yeah, we do," Mary agreed, still glaring at Marshall. "Marshall is about to get his face rearranged."

"Bring it on," Marshall taunted, waving her forward.

"Easy, kids, I mean it," Stan scolded, trying not to look amused. Eleanor snorted from her desk and shook her head, her eyes never leaving her computer screen.

"Yes, Father," Marshall said with more than a hint of irony.

Mary didn't respond, but continued to glare at her partner.

"Jason Goring aka Jason Garritt," Stan said, looking at both of them in turn.

A furrow creased Marshall's brow. "That name sounds familiar. Why do I know that name?"

Mary groaned and rubbed her eyes. "Because he was one of my witnesses four years ago."

"Was?"

"What, he decide death was more desirable than having you in his life?" Eleanor muttered loudly from her desk.

"Eh heh heh heh heh," Mary sneered, then turned back to Marshall and Stan. "Remind me of the details, Papa Smurf."

"Witnessed a mob shooting in Gary in 2003. Victim was Jason's girlfriend, Melody Harrison. Jason was their escape artist, so to speak. He got them in and got them out. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, but…" He shrugged.

"But all crayons taste the same," Mary said with a grimace.

Marshall gave her a look. "You eat crayons?"

She ignored him. "Jason was devastated by Melody's death. Had to be one of the clingiest witnesses I ever had."

Stan showed Marshall the picture from Jason's file and Marshall's frown deepened. "Oh, yeah, I remember this guy. Fell in love with Mary and started calling her several times a day. Went over to her house a total of four times. Somehow he found out her identity and personal information, and used it to stalk her."

Mary was surprised, a little impressed, and more than a little wary. "How do you remember all of that?"

Marshall flicked his gaze to hers, and then back to the photo. "Because I'm the one who called Seattle to get him relocated."

"What?" She hadn't known that. She thought it had been some big emergency involving his case and the trial, and sure, she'd been pulled off so that someone with whom Jason had no ties could step in, but she had no idea why.

Marshall wouldn't look at her, but she could see his jaw tightening. "Sometimes partners act in the interest of each other, Mary, without the other knowing." He looked up at Stan and handed the picture back. "What about him?"

"He's missing."

There was a moment of no sound, not even from Eleanor's keyboard.

"Missing?" Mary repeated, not in confusion, but in disbelief. "Seattle lost a witness?"

Stan nodded. "Three weeks ago, his inspector went to his apartment to check things out, hadn't heard from him in a while. The trial was last year, so there shouldn't have been any trouble. When he got to the apartment, there was no sign of him. No signs of struggle, nothing missing, not even a suitcase. No one has seen or heard from him since."

"So why call us?" Mary asked, feeling irritated beyond belief. She'd _never _lost a witness. Any witness who tried to get lost, she found. It couldn't be that difficult.

Marshall stirred in his seat, but said nothing, as Stan looked through the file. "Oh, you know," Stan began, almost absentmindedly, "they just wanted our cooperation."

"Our help, more likely," Marshall murmured.

"Forget help, they want us to find him because they're too inept to do it themselves," Mary retorted, standing up and taking the file from Stan roughly. "This guy helped take down one of the most dangerous mobs in the states, and they just lose him? Who the hell was working this case, Barney Fife?"

"He's also psychotic, Mary," Marshall said quietly, looking at her intently. "Let's not forget that little piece of information."

"The guy just needs help, Marshall. He's harmless."

"I'd go with psychotic," Eleanor offered, bringing a fax over to Stan. "That would explain a lot."

"So would calling you Medusa, but that's a little beneath me," Mary replied instantly.

"It is?" Marshall queried, looking surprised.

She considered that. "Oh, yeah, I guess it's not. My bad, Medusa." She looked back at the file, rifling through the pages. "There's nothing in here to go on. Seriously, how long has this inspector been with the marshals?"

"Inspector Donaldson has been a marshal for twenty-two years," Stan answered calmly, removing the file from Mary's grasp and placing his new fax into it. "And has a spotless record."

"Had," Mary corrected, placing her hands squarely on her hips. "Not spotless anymore when an important witness goes missing without a trace right under your nose."

Stan gave her a look and sighed. "Anyway, I have already told the Seattle office that anything we can do will be done."

"Which isn't much," Mary grumbled as she made her way back to her desk.

"Regardless," Stan overrode, "we will do anything we can. Follow up on any leads or hints of leads, anything that might help us find out what happened to Jason. Understood?"

"Understood," they responded, Mary reluctantly, Marshall determinedly. Stan nodded and returned to his office.

Mary groaned and put her head down on her desk, then banged it repeatedly.

"Oh, come on, is one missing witness enough to make you send shock waves into those valuable parts of your head that you still have?" Marshall asked as he picked up his phone. "You have more tolerance than that."

"How about you find him and I do all your paperwork?" she asked, her head still on her desk.

"Tempting, really, but I know how you do paperwork, and I know how I do paperwork, and the idea of someone mistaking your poor excuse for chicken scratch for my meticulous observations makes me a little nauseated."

She raised her head to look at him. "Really, Marshall? Why don't we just put a sticker on your forehead that says, 'Here sits a geek'?"

"Haha," he scoffed. Then he turned back to his computer screen. "Hello, this is Inspector Marshall Mann. I am calling in regards to a Jason Garrit."

Mary turned to her own screen, dreading anything to do with this case. Jason was harmless, she believed it. His stalking, as Marshall had so bluntly called it, had really been nothing. Jason was just lonely and sad, and yeah, it was a little annoying, but for some reason, she genuinely felt sorry for the kid. He was twenty-one when he was brought in and from what she could tell, had the worst sort of upbringing. If he did have some mental issues, they really couldn't be considered his fault.

She pulled up his file and looked at the picture again. He had been such a scared-looking kid. She remembered that had been her first impression when she saw him in their conference room that first day. He had been absolutely petrified, which seemed to suit his wiry, maybe 5'6 frame. Those big, sea green eyes that could actually be a little creepy if you stared at them for too long, combined with the mousy brown hair made him look like he was 14. In fact, she remembered with a smile, she'd made him pull out his ID to prove that he was a legal adult.

And, aside from all of the creepy attachment he'd had with her, he had followed the rules to perfection, which made him a hell of a lot better than many of the other witnesses she had to deal with.

He was just a troubled kid who needed help and no one had ever given him a break. She suspected that no matter what the court decided, there were still some guys out there who would love to shut Jason up. And some idiot son of a gun in Seattle had let this kid slip through the cracks.

She clenched her jaw and shook her head. She would find Jason, and she would give his marshals hell and then some when she found him, and then she would make sure he was relocated again. Yes, he had made her a little uncomfortable with his attention, and yes, now that she knew, she was grateful that Marshall had moved him. But he had still been her witness; it was on her word that he had come in on. She still felt responsible for him, especially now that he was missing.

"Where are you, Jason?" she murmured, almost to herself, looking at the picture.

"We'll find him, Mary," Marshall said softly from his desk, watching her.

She returned his look with a half smile. "I thought he creeped you out."

"He does. But so do you, on some days."

She made a face, which made him chuckle.

"Seriously, Mare, I know how liable you feel about your witnesses. I know he hasn't been your witness for years, but even so, I know that you feel somehow that this is your fault, that it is your mess to clean up. But it's not. There is no possible way that this could be construed as your fault."

"Tell that to Jason," she said, running her hand into her hair. "He might have worked with the mob, but you know and I know what that skinny little runt was really like. Biggest chipmunk of a guy I ever met. If he's not dead now, he will be soon."

"We will find him, Mary." She met his deep blue eyes and saw the earnestness in them. "We will."

She nodded. "Ok. Where do you want me to start?"

He smiled. "Coffee? We're going to be here a while."

She threw a wad of paper at his head, smacking him dead on.

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**Reviews are love, my friends. You review, I give love. Win-win. =)**


	2. Chapter 2

Well, I'm quite happy with all the reviews thusfar! Not sure how often I'll be able to update, so enjoy the pace while you can! Now let's get back to our regularly scheduled Marshall goodness. =) Oh, and it's gonna get dark soon, so be ready for it. Yikes!

**DISCLAIMER:** I got nothing. No, really, I don't.

* * *

"I swear to God, I'm gonna kill these guys!" Mary yelled as she hit yet another dead end.

"Who are you going to kill and in what manner and where can I get tickets?" Marshall responded in his calm, droll manner from his desk, hanging up his phone.

She threw him a look that would have terrified lesser beings, but he just took it in stride and waited for her response. "This Donaldson character from Seattle! There's nothing here that would possibly indicate who might have come after Jason, why someone would take him, or where they would go! The witness statements are incomplete, at best; the crime scene information from Seattle PD is practically nothing; the history of his time in Seattle is cleaner than clean; and to top it off, it looks like Donaldson had a rookie start taking his witnesses exactly 4 weeks ago. _Before_ Jason went missing. And there's no note about it! If there's one thing I hate, it's incompetence."

"And if there's two, it's rookies."

"Yeah, that too."

Marshall sighed and rested his folded hands on top of the stack of folders and paper, leaning forward. "I know. I haven't had much luck either, but they are still looking up there. There's a whole list of people that might have had contact with Jason and we've only made it halfway through."

"And it only took us four hours to get that far," she muttered darkly, standing up to stretch her back and legs.

Marshall shrugged. "What did you expect? That this was going to be easy? Jason works in a computer store as one of their tech guys. He interacted with many people, but not on a level that would put any into a category of more than acquaintances. He didn't reach out to anyone that we can tell at this point, and he never caused any trouble."

"I know, I know," she said, running her hands through her hair. "But there's gotta be something we're missing here." She paced a bit behind her desk, hands on her hips now. "Did we check out the mob connection?"

He checked his screen. "Oscar de la Feuntes, 3 years to go on his sentence, apparently reformed and involved in community service a youth group in Gary. That is a scary thought. Rico Rivera, still apparently at large, but no indication of any activity. He was a small time thug, though, not a major player."

"Let's check him out anyway," Mary said, knowing she was grasping at straws here.

Marshall winced and looked up at her. "He hasn't been heard from in years, but rumor has it that another member, Antonio Chattums, killed him with his own pocket knife. No body has ever been found."

Mary made a disgusted noise and sat down in her seat heavily. "What about this Chattums guy?"

"Antonio Chattums, paroled last week for a multitude of sins, the least of which is aggravated assault and his parole officer assured me that he has not left the state of Indiana."

"Punishment enough, I'd say."

"There is nothing wrong with Indiana," Marshall offered sagely, smiling a bit. "It is the crossroads of America, one of the contributing members of the nation's Corn Belt, and has the largest children's museum in the world. In fact, Indiana's educational constitution of 1816 was the first in the country to employ a state funded public school system."

Mary could only stare at her partner in awe.

"What?" he asked, looking confused.

"It astounds me how much useless information that noggin of yours holds."

He smiled and adopted a proud expression. "It's a gift."

"Or something," she said, still looking at him strangely. Shaking her head, she moved back to her computer and files, then sighed. "I need to get out. You wanna come?" She pushed off of her desk and grabbed her jacket.

"Sure," he replied, standing up and making his way to the door. "Where are we going?"

She shrugged, pressing the button for the elevator. "I need food and air, and then maybe we'll stop by and see Danny Remaley."

"Remaley?" Marshall asked, his brow furrowing as they stepped into the elevator and it began to move. "Remaley, Remaley…oh!" He snapped his fingers. "Jason's boss from when he worked at Radio Shack?"

"Bingo. Nice work, Sherlock," she said with a grin.

"Thank you, Watson."

She rolled her eyes, and stepped out of the elevator. "Anyway, Danny was probably the only other person that Jason had any real contact with."

"And you like Danny for this?" Marshall asked her as he fit his lanky form into her tiny car.

She made a face and shook her head. "Not really. But he might know something, or at least have an idea."

They grabbed a quick meal at a little bistro down the street, in which they talked about the wide assortment of things, making Mary suspect that Marshall was attempting to distract her from her desire to strangle certain Seattle WitSec inspectors. It didn't really work, but it at least kept the desire to an irritated simmer instead of a vicious boil. After their meal, they drove to Radio Shack in relative silence, unless you count Marshall's tapping to the beat against the side of the car. For all the nerd he was, he kept a pretty good beat.

They pulled into the parking lot and when they saw no one around except a teeny clerk of maybe 15, Mary scowled.

"Be nice, Mary," Marshall murmured, touching her shoulder softly. "Excuse me?"

The clerk looked up from his book, and straightened his glasses. "Oh! Welcome to Radio Shack, can I help you?"

"Yeah, we're looking for Danny, is he here?" Mary asked, trying not to bark at the kid.

He nodded, and that was all.

"Would you mind telling us where he is?" Marshall asked slowly, wondering if this kid was a little too slow to be working at an electronics store.

The clerk, whose nametag read Michael, jerked a thumb towards the door behind him. "He's in the back, but only staff are allowed back there."

"It's ok, Mikey, we're friends with Danny," Mary assured him as she walked passed the counter and opened the door.

"It's Michael!" the reedy voice called to her as they entered the back room. The light was a little dim, but not too bad as they looked for Danny amidst the boxes and equipment.

"Danny!" Mary called, feeling a little nervous. If Danny were gone too…

"Is that you, Mary?" a cheerful voice came from a few rows away. Immediately a thick, curly head of hair appeared and the man himself came around the shelves, his smile wide, a pencil sticking out form behind his ear. "It _is_ Mary, well I'll be damned!"

"I hope not, Danny, who would people take their computer troubles to if you're burning in hell?" she quipped, giving him an almost smile.

He shrugged. "True enough, true enough. What's it been, Mary, four years?"

"At least. This is Marshall, another friend of mine," she said, stepping back a little for the two men to shake hands.

"Any friend of Mary's…" he started, looking rather amused.

"Had better tread softly," Marshall offered, taking on a mock-serious expression, "yes, I am aware of that."

Danny laughed loudly at the glare Mary shot her partner and wiped his slightly stained hands on his red flannel shirt. "I can see you know what you're doing, Marshall. So, Mary, what can I help you with? Ipod? DVD player? Laptop?"

"Jason Goring."

Danny's pleasant face fell and he sighed. "Ah, Jason. I've missed that kid since he moved. He had a gift with computers, and it's never been the same since he left." He indicated that they sit on the crates nearest them, which they did, albeit a bit awkwardly. "What do you want to know about Jason for? I'm sure he would have contacted you before me, I know how he looked up to you."

"If you can call it that," Marshall muttered, but Mary ignored him.

"Jason's missing, Danny," she said, further ignoring Marshall's startled look at her. It was a bit outside of policy to reveal that sort of information, but Mary had had just about enough of everybody beating around the bush and getting nowhere.

"Missing?" Danny asked, his eyes going wide. "How do you know?"

"I had a friend check in on him a few days ago, you know, cuz I hadn't heard from him in a while, just to see how he was, and he was gone. No trace of him anywhere." Mary held her breath, hoping that Danny would somehow miss the gaping holes in that story. Marshall had closed his eyes, and she could almost see what it cost him to not shake his head at her weak response.

"Wow…" Danny breathed. "I sure hope the kid's ok."

That was it? She felt a bit of relief at the lack of attention he had paid to her words. "So you haven't heard from him? Seen him? Anything?" she asked, knowing she was starting to sound desperate, but not really caring.

"No, I did hear from him. A few times, actually," Danny responded absently. "He's written me now and then."

Marshall and Mary glanced at each other, then back to Danny. "Really?" That was not good.

He nodded. "Yeah, he's living with a friend in Seattle, a Jason Griffin? Says they met at work and had the same first name, and last initial, so he was called Gore and the other Griff. Apparently, they became great friends and have similar interests and everything. I was really happy to hear that, you know? So he just asked me to send it to Griff and he'd get it. Didn't want to mess with the change of address stuff when he didn't know how long he'd be living there, you know?"

"Sure," Mary said softly, dread growing in her stomach. Jason Griffin was his name in Seattle. He'd been keeping up contact with Danny and no one had caught it. _Idiots!_ she thought viciously. _How does anyone miss something like that?_

Danny missed the expressions on their faces and continued. "Anyway, he seemed to still be pretty lonely, but he said he was adjusting all right. Said he had this girl he was trying to get to notice him, but she was way out of his league. I told him that no girl should be out of his reach, that he was worth a lot more than he gave himself credit for, you know? I just felt sorry for the kid. So I've been replying as he writes me, I get one every couple of months or so. The last one actually said things were going a lot better and he finally had a plan to get this girl, so I told him to go for it."

"Did you catch a name, by chance?" Marshall asked.

Danny shook his head. "Not even once, but I didn't ask. The guy's gotta have some privacy, you know? But the girl problems were only part of the letters anyway, the rest of the time he just talked about how he was trying to turn his life around. Be more outgoing, take charge, get in shape, that sort of thing." He suddenly laughed. "I remember when he said once that he thought he could have taken on the whole mob, and I just laughed. Can you imagine? Little Jason taking on some mob in Seattle… That would be a fight I'd pay to see."

"And how did you respond?" Mary asked, fear gnawing at her stomach.

"Oh, I think I said something like, 'sure, kid, but don't get into trouble, cuz I can't protect you from Albuquerque.' Something like that." His eyes went wide again. "Oh, no, you don't think he might have actually done something, do you?"

Again, the partners shared a look. "We're not sure at this point," Marshall said carefully. "Do you happen to have those letters with you? They may help to shed some light on what may have happened to Jason."

"Not on me, no, but they're at home. Can I bring them to you tomorrow? It's my day off."

"That would be fine. You can take them to the Albuquerque Police Department. They'll be assisting in the investigation." Mary looked at Marshall quickly, curiosity written all over her face. He merely gave her a look and she caught his meaning. Bobby would have manpower to help if needed, so why not bring him in right away? Sometimes, her partner had really good ideas.

"I can do that. You guys in law enforcement or something? Can you help find him?" Danny asked, worry furrowing his brow.

"Something like that," Mary said, standing up. "We'll let you know, ok?"

"I'd appreciate that, Mary, thanks." She nodded at him and left, Marshall right behind her.

The moment they entered the car, she banged her fist against the wheel repeatedly. "Dammit! Writing letters to Danny from Seattle? No wonder somebody caught up with him!" She shoved her hands into her hair and gripped tightly.

"We'll find him, Mary, I told you," Marshall soothed, rubbing her arm.

She looked at him, sighing. "We'd better, Marshall. We had damn well better." She shook her head and turned the key in the ignition, sending the car rearing back to life, and they drove back to the office, determined to find Seattle's lost witness.

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**Hope you don't mind my Indiana trivia bits...Hoosier over here. =) Reviews make me happy, and when I'm happy, we're all happy!**


	3. Chapter 3

Wow, your responses are just making me happy! Which is good, considering that's what fuels the story, really. This next chapter is pretty important to the overall angst of our characters (isn't angst a great word?) and the rest of the story comes on pretty fast after this, which is good, considering you're all probably wondering when it will actually go somewhere. Sorry, I am really on one today, cuz it's Friday and the office sucks. So, without any further junk from me, I present Chapter 3...in which Marshall is totally sexy. But when is he not, right? I mean, c'mon...

**DISCLAIMER:** Nada. That's what I own. Nada.

* * *

"I'm sure that won't be a problem, Inspector. We'll be glad for the extra help." Stan's voice carried to Mary's ears as she and Marshall returned into the office. A quick glance through his office windows showed a tall, slender brunette in snappy business attire, but not much beyond that.

"I bet he's glad for _that_ extra help," Mary murmured as she headed for her desk. "Wonder what exactly he needs help _with_."

Marshall chuckled quietly and sat down at his own. "Our fearless leader may not be as young as he once was, Mary, but he is still a man with a man's needs."

She made a disgusted face. "Okay, if I ever hear you refer to Stan as a man with a man's needs again, I am going to launch myself from the roof."

"Ooo, can I watch?" Eleanor asked in a would-be innocent voice as she handed a file to Marshall.

"You bet," Mary quipped, not to be outdone, "you can have a front row seat, and I bet Marshall will be selling popcorn and cotton candy, but you might not want that, considering…" She waved a hand, gesturing to her body, then shrugged.

Eleanor's mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed. "I hate you." She stomped off to her desk and sat down in a huff.

"Aww, how sweet," Mary cooed, looking over at Marshall. "She finally expressed her true feelings for me."

"Congratulations," Marshall offered in a monotone as he looked through the file he'd just received.

Mary frowned at his lack of response. "Whatcha got there, Skippy?"

"Bank records and phone records of Jason in Seattle. Two days before he went missing, he cleaned out his entire bank account. All $9,000, and there's been no activity on any of his cards since then."

Mary got up and walked over to his desk, reading over his shoulder. "Why would he need all of that money? Any clues?"

"Not a one. He only made grocery purchases for the three months prior to that, and minor withdrawals, nothing over $100 for the past two years." He lifted a page and peered at the one beneath it. "No calls made or received on his home or cell in the last 5 weeks, except those from his boss and WitSec." He released his breath shortly in frustration. "This is feeling more and more unsettling by the minute. I cannot believe that there were no indications of trouble, nothing to hint at a potential threat, even a whisper that something might possibly be incongruous with Jason's normal behavior or situation."

"Well, that's what happens when half-wit inspectors let witnesses fall through the cracks," Mary muttered darkly. "If I had still been running his case, I can promise you, that I would have ridden his hide and this would never have happened."

Before Marshall could respond, Stan came out of his office, the woman following, a bright smile on her face. "Inspectors Mary Shannon and Marshall Mann, this is Inspector Sara Jennings, from Seattle. She'd been assigned his case there and has come down to offer us whatever aid she can in the matter." He nodded to her, and went back into his office, moving more quickly than normal, as if he knew to get out of the line of fire.

Sara stepped forward, holding her hand out to Mary across the desk. "Pleasure to meet you both, I can't wait to get started."

Mary didn't even look at her hand. "So you're the rookie who totally screwed this whole thing up."

Sara's smile wavered and the hand dropped. "I can assure you, Inspector, that I am good at my job."

Mary snorted. "Yeah, way good. First witness and you can't figure out that something's wrong? What, you sleep your way through training? Screw a couple of instructors? A few winks, a couple of booty calls, and suddenly, hey! You're a US Marshal. It's a great way to be, you must be one hell of a ride."

"Mary…" Marshall warned softly as he eyed Sara carefully.

"I would _never _—" Sara began as her cheeks flushed, her fingers clenching at her sides.

But Mary was not about to give her a chance to make excuses. She gave free reign to the feelings she'd been forced to contain ever since she'd received word of Jason's disappearance. "I just have to wonder, do you have any brains at all? Or are you just a walking chew toy for anyone who will sink their teeth in?"

"Mary," Marshall said again, louder and more firmly.

Sara's expression was one of fury, hurt, and indignation. Her grey eyes were beginning to fill with tears, but her jaw was tense, her hands balled into tight fists.

"I'm thinking it has to be the latter," Mary continued, her voice rising, as she stepped around Marshall's desk stopping only when she was directly in front of Sara, "because there is no way in hell that any competent US Marshal working Witness Protection would somehow manage to let their witness disappear without any trace, without any indication of trouble, and amazingly enough, have no idea what happened, where he went, or why. If you had any brains at all, you would have caught on to whatever happened so far in advance that we would never have to be called in for this. Did you decide to join the marshals because it would sound impressive when you tried to get a man in bed? Do you really need that extra boost?"

"Mary, stop!" Marshall insisted as tears began to run down Sara's paling cheeks.

Mary only stepped closer and poked a finger into Sara's chest. "You let a high priority witness vanish into thin air when there are still people out there who would love to kill in him such gruesome ways that you wouldn't be able to sleep for weeks if you knew about it. How does that feel, huh? Sara, was it? Knowing that you _failed_ as a Marshal. Your job is to protect these people, not let them get taken, not let them disappear, not wander around aimlessly and waiting for someone to hold your hand and tell you what you are supposed to do. Well, I certainly hope you're satisfied, _Inspector_," she said, her tone in every respect mocking. "And when we find his cold, mutilated corpse somewhere, I hope you enjoy looking at what your incompetence brought about. Or will you even care? Do you even know the damage that your stupidity has caused? Personally, I'm shocked that you even had the nerve to come down here, knowing what a total joke you I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering the fact that the United States Marshal Service is now apparently hiring brainless, ignorant, amateur, lazy, self-promoting, Barbie-bodied, lip gloss addled bimbos and using them to protect our most valuable witnesses." She laughed humorlessly. "God bless America."

Suddenly Mary's arm was seized in a painful, vice-like grip and she was forced towards the door. "Ouch, what the hell?" She looked up at Marshall, whose face was set so hard she thought he had to be breaking teeth. She glanced around to see Stan in the doorway to his office, looking furious; Eleanor at her desk looking appalled; Sara was still frozen in front of Marshall's desk, tears streaming now.

Marshall pushed her into the elevator and pressed the button for the main floor, and only when the doors had closed did he loosen his hold on her arm.

"I swear to God, if you left bruises…" she muttered.

Marshall swore and slammed his fist against the wall of the elevator and turned to look at her, blue eyes blazing with anger. "Are you serious, Mary? After that verbal eradication you just gave Inspector Jennings, in which you embarrassed yourself and our department, not to mention me, you are concerned that I _bruised_ you? Good God, Mary, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Her mouth dropped open and she jerked her arm out of his hold completely. "Me? What? I let her have it! She deserved it, Marshall! You never complain when I rip into anyone else, including you!"

"No, I don't, but if this is what that is going to lead to, then I damn well might have to!" he yelled back. "She's not some criminal that deserves all the heated vitriolic that you are so adept at flinging, she is one of us, Mary! She made a mistake, yes, and so I naively let you have a little leeway, knowing that once you got it out of your system, we could move on. But this…" He gestured frantically, at a loss for words for once.

Mary seized the break in his rhetoric. "Are you freaking kidding me, Marshall? That crappy excuse for a marshal lost her witness! Lost _our _witness! What did you expect me to do, accept a lame apology?"

"No, because that would be far too kind of you, but I never expected you to do something as incomprehensible as this!" He turned away from her, ran a hand through his hair and made a noise of frustration. "I did not expect you to welcome her kindly, Mary, because I know you…" he said slowly, as if it would lessen his emotions.

"Damn straight," she muttered.

"But to completely demoralize her without any regard for her feelings or situation right there in front of the whole office goes so far beyond the boundaries of human decency, even for you, that I had to interfere." He turned back to face her, and his expression was as close to murderous as she could ever recall. "You were out of control, Mary. Do you have any idea what you've just done to that girl up there?"

"Oh for God's sake, Marshall, why don't you just join the throng and get in her pants?" Mary spat, almost enjoying watching his face contort. "Then you'll be back to normal and remember how to be a man. Or as close to it as you ever get."

Marshall had to visibly restrain himself and he stepped back so that she was out of his reach. When he spoke again, it was clipped and strained. "I refuse to let you harass her in this manner any further, Mary, and I care too much about you to let you do this to yourself. Any further demonstrations of this sort will get you fired, and I will not allow you to endanger your career because of your inability to empathize with even the smallest part of what another human being feels. You are going home. Right. Now." He took her keys from his pocket, and handed them to her, not letting his fingers touch hers. He must have grabbed them from her desk before he'd hauled her off like some naughty 5-year-old.

She glared up at him as the doors opened and she stepped out. "And who says you get to play my daddy, numb-nuts? You gonna ground me too? Do I have to stay in my room until you say so?"

He didn't even look at her, but kept his gaze focused somewhere above her head. "I don't care what you do. I am only going to hope that tomorrow when I come in to the office that I will see the Mary Shannon I know and love, instead of this other version I saw today that I don't ever want to meet again."

As if to add a dramatic twist to that, the doors closed then and she heard the elevator start its ascent to their floor.

Seething and flushed from anger, and yes, a little shame, more from his words than hers, she kicked the elevator doors and let out a defiant, "Screw you, Marshall Mann!" Maybe he would hear it, maybe he wouldn't, but she felt better for it.

She stormed her way out to the car and hoped Marshall was happy comforting what's-her-face, instead of siding with his partner. Some great friend he was. She slammed the car door as hard as she could and huffed in indignation. To her surprise, she felt tears begin to form in her eyes, and she attempted to shake it off. It didn't work. She kicked the vehicle into high gear and drove, not knowing where she was going to go, and not really caring.

Her partner was ashamed of her. That stung worse than anything else. She let release the sobs that had been welling in her chest and took no comfort in the tears that rolled helplessly down her cheeks.

High above the city, Marshall leaned against the wall of the roof, his mind wandering with the small car he saw and heard screeching out of sight. Had he been too hard on her? He shook his head and sighed. No, he'd been right. She had been out of line, and he _had _needed to intercede before things got any worse. And he knew that, with time, she would see it that way as well. He regretted his harsh words to her, because he knew that no matter how hard Mary was on other people, she was even harder on herself. He did not want her to think that he thought less of her, or that she wasn't still his best friend and the woman that he…

Well, that all didn't matter at the moment. She would be crying now, and he hated himself for that alone. But tomorrow would come, and no matter if she was still mad at him, he would take her aside, apologize, and see that she believed him. And the best way he could make amends and help her move on would be to give her something to go on with this case.

He nodded firmly to himself and walked back into the building, hoping his instincts as far as Mary Shannon was concerned were as sharp as they could be. If they weren't, he might have just done more harm than good.

* * *

**So sad, right? Poor Mary. Poor Marshall. Poor everybody. But hey, how about an angry Marshall in an elevator, eh? Yeahhhhh...reviews would be great. Even if you just want to share your imaginations of angry Marshall in an elevator with you, that's fine too. =)**


	4. Chapter 4

Hi Kids! So I know that the last chapter was a little tricky to handle, and I'm sorry about that. I'm also sorry to say that things are going to get a little more tricksy from now on, but not in the same way. I hope y'all will stick with me through this, because I like this story and I want you guys to as well! So please forgive me for my little unrealistic bits and just roll with it.

Oh, and in my haste to get this all posted last week, I forgot to give a HUGE thank you to my pal slumbajam, who has been so kind as to tell me when I've totally screwed something up or when something needed more umph or when it was just right. Thanks, pal!

**Disclaimer:** Own nothing. I think I'd be afraid to, to be quite honest.

* * *

_I should call her_, Marshall thought as he padded around his kitchen in his barefeet that evening. He'd called it a night early, unable to work Jason's case anymore without Mary's involvement. Maybe it was more he couldn't work on it any further when he was so worried about her. Either way, he'd left Sara with some menial tasks that would free up time for more constructive investigations in the morning. So he'd come home and worried about Mary there. As much as he hated to admit it, he had a feeling that this case was not so much about Jason as it was about Mary. There had to be a better reason for Seattle to be asking for their help than merely the fact that he had formerly been in the Albuquerque program. Something in his gut felt very strongly that Seattle suspected Jason's former obsession with Mary played an important role in his disappearance. Whether it was a mob angle or not, he couldn't tell at this point, and he was not about to let Mary know of his suspicions, but he had a feeling that Stan was thinking in the same direction. He'd make sure to discuss that with him in the morning.

But right now, he sat down at his table, sipping his hot cup of coffee, fingering his phone. He really should call Mary. She might be furious, but he needed to apologize. He needed to talk calmly with her, let her vent all her frustrations, and help her come to the understanding that , although not preferable, having Sara work with them might actually benefit their attempts to locate Jason. If nothing else, he would assure her that she would never have to speak directly to Sara; he would be the mediator. It wasn't much, but small victories were better than none.

He was worried that he hadn't heard from her yet. She must have been angrier than he thought. He winced, mentally berating himself for going too far with his castigations. He just could not bear to see her act that way. It was not in keeping with the Mary he loved…ok, it probably was, but not to that extent. She was rough and tough and bluntly honest to the point of offense, and never minded being insulting if it was justified, but she reigned herself in before ever doing real damage. Her behaviors were used to make a point, not for her own gratification. While this one had certainly made a point, there had been nothing justified about it. Yes, Sara had messed up, and yes, he had expected Mary to use the first few minutes of meeting her purely for a scalding invective on the inefficiency of her work ethic, but either due to the stress of the situation or her own feelings of guilt in the matter, she had obliterated any and all boundaries she'd ever had.

It had scared him beyond belief.

A strange tingling had started in his fingers and he stared at them, confused. It moved quickly up his arms and into his chest, and soon his entire body was tingling and rapidly losing sensation at all.

"What the…" he managed before he felt himself slipping out of his seat and onto the floor. His vision started going blurry, and then darkened at the edges. He blinked hard, trying to clear it all away, but it only served to make things worse. His head throbbed, and the light in the room was suddenly more painful than anything he had ever experienced. He heard footsteps and managed to fix his eyes on the movement coming from his hallway. A pair of black boots approached but before he could get his gaze any higher than the kneecaps of his intruder, his vision faded completely.

_Mary_, he thought frantically, as his consciousness began to wane. He heard the footsteps coming closer and tried to move away.

"Now, now, Marshall, that will not do," a cold, almost bored sounding voice scolded. "Perhaps the dose was not strong enough. I underestimated you. No matter."

The footsteps stopped very near him, and suddenly he was pulled by his hair to a sitting position, sending his entire equilibrium into complete chaos. Waves upon waves of dizziness and nausea assailed him, and even in his blindness, he had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut in response. He could feel his scalp tingling painfully as he was released. The man shuffled slightly away, then waited for a moment.

_Mary…_

He heard the man yell, and swing something, and then Marshall knew nothing else.

On the table, unnoticed, his phone vibrated.

* * *

Mary approached the floor of her office with no small amount of anxiety. She'd tried to call Marshall a total of four times the night before and once this morning, and he had not answered. But the phone had been ringing, not just gone to voicemail. So his phone was on. And it was not like Marshall to lose his phone, so her only option was to suppose that he was still pissed at her.

Not that she blamed him. She was pissed at herself. It didn't mean she didn't feel the same way as she had, to some extent, but Marshall had been right, as always. She had been out of control. She had a list of apologies to make today, which she knew was going to taste a lot like turpentine. But once that was done and out of the way, they'd be able to focus on finding Jason and getting that pencil-legged Seattle rookie back up there.

She stepped out of the elevator and slid her card, then almost timidly pushed the doors open, her eyes immediately flicking to Marshall's desk. It was empty. Dammit, where was he? He always beat her to the office! She sighed, and moved to her own desk, flinging her bag down. She saw that what's-her-face—Sara, she corrected herself—was not here either.

Her eyes widened and she silently swore. What if Marshall _had_ gotten into Sara's pants last night? What if that part of her speech had actually been truth? She'd only said it to lash out at him, to bait him a little, but what if he really had done it? She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and groaned. She would never forgive herself if Marshall had gone and hit up the Seattle rookie to spite her for her actions.

_No, no,_ she thought, _that's_ _not like him. If he slept with her it would be because he wanted to._

Oh, like that made her feel better.

She turned from her desk and walked over to Stan's office, knocking gently. He looked up and waved her in immediately. She pushed open the door and stood there for a moment, biting her lip. Stan merely watched her from his desk, waiting.

She sighed. "I was out of bounds. So far off-sides that a fifteen yard penalty is a slap on the wrist. Overshot the landing pad by twenty-seven miles. Stuck my foot so far into my mouth it's dancing with my kidneys. If you want to bench me, I understand. I'd do the same thing. What I'm trying to say here, Chief, is…I'm sorry. I know I embarrassed myself, and Marshall, and you, and it won't happen again."

Stan looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "You bring your A game today?"

"Always do."

"Then let's go to work."

"Thanks, Stan," she murmured with a smile as she headed back out the door.

"Hey, Mary," he called before she had gone three feet.

She turned to face him. "Hey what?"

He got up and came towards her, hands in his pockets. "You haven't talked to Marshall today, have you?"

She shook her head. "No, he's still not answering my calls. Makes it a little difficult to grovel, you know?"

He grunted, looking perplexed. "He's not answering mine either."

Mary frowned, looking over at the pile of papers in the conference room. "Maybe you oughta call and check in with what's her name from Seattle. I bet she'd know where he is." She didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Stan put a hand on her arm. "Mary, Marshall went home before seven last night, and Sara didn't leave until around eleven."

She froze, staring at her boss. He wasn't answering her calls, he wasn't answering Stan's calls, he wasn't sleeping with the rookie, and he wasn't in the office early after leaving early the night before.

"Something's not right, Stan," she murmured, moving quickly to her desk. "Something is most definitely not right." She picked up her phone and dialed a number quickly, tapping a finger on her desk impatiently. Finally, someone answered.

"Bobby, it's Mary. I need a favor."

* * *

"Marshall…Wake up, Marshall...that's it…"

The sluggishness of his mind was matched only by the sluggishness of his body. Every thought hurt, every part of his body ached, and even breathing was too much. Something cold and hard was touching his face, prodding, sending jolts of pain into his head. But the object itself was not sharp.

He tried to open his eyes so he could figure out where he was, and how to proceed, but not only were his eyes burning with the effort, there was also something tied very tightly over them. It was so tight, in fact, that it was pressing into the rest of his face and head, giving him the sensation that his head might actually explode, which was an anatomical impossibility, he knew, but the sensation was very real.

Something sharp jabbed at his arm and he jerked away, sending further pains ricocheting up and down his arms, into his head, and down to the painful bindings on his ankles.

"Now, now, Marshall," a cool, disturbing voice murmured, far too close to him for comfort. "You mustn't struggle, that will only make things worse. Those bindings on your ankles and wrists are very tight at the moment, but if you behave, we might just be able to loosen them for you."

Marshall tried to keep his breathing even, though the rasping was involuntary, and he seemed incapable of taking a full breath. He now realized that his arms were indeed bound by something cold and metal somewhere above his head, and his shoulders throbbed in response. He tried to focus through the haze of his mind onto his other senses, but all he could assess was his current state of pain. No single part of his body was pain-free; he could feel everything everywhere. Hypersensitivity, and painful hypersensitivity at that, was unsettling at best and terrifying at worst.

"That's better," the voice soothed, now drawing the first object over Marshall's ribs, each rib feeling like an agonizing speedbump. "See, I need you to be awake and alert for this next part, Marshall. It will only work if you have all of your faculties. Well, as many of them as you can, considering that you are still drugged. But that couldn't be helped. And you're here now, and you're awake, so we can get started with our little project."

The voice was mocking him, enjoying his anxiety, taking a perverse pleasure in the authority he held. How long had he been here? Did anyone know he was missing? What was happening to him? He heard and felt the man moving, but trying to follow was too hard, took too much effort, was far too painful to attempt. The man stopped on his left side and shuffled closer, and Marshall could sense him swinging whatever it was back and forth, parallel to Marshall's bodyline. Swinging it very close to his face. Grazing his face with it. It was smooth, but not completely. Wood maybe?

"Fifth rib, sixth rib, seventh…" He prodded them each with the dull tip of whatever that object was. "Hmm…don't want to hit the wrong spot…can't do too much damage…yet…"

The voice was thoughtful, calculating, amused.

_Mary_, Marshall groaned in his mind, nervously bringing his dry tongue to attempt to moisten his drier and cracking lips. _Mary, where are you?_

"I wonder how this will feel, Marshall, but I trust that, given the situation, you will let me know won't you? It's quite all right if you want to scream. No one will hear it but me."

The feet shuffled back slightly, and there was silence.

Something made Marshall tense, something in the air was uneasy.

What was going to happen? What was going on?

The man blew out all the air in his lungs, then swung whatever he was holding.

Something slammed into Marshall's midribs, and pain such as he never comprehended flooded him.

He couldn't hold it back.

He screamed.

* * *

**Eeeep! I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't hurt Marshall. Don't hate, please! Review if you like...because how else am I going to know how you feel?**


	5. Chapter 5

Next chapter...in which nothing is resolved, things get more hairy, and we all get more confused! Huzzah! In all seriousness, hope y'all are liking this. If not, don't tell me. I like thinking you do.

**Disclaimer:** Still own nothing. But hoping all the same.

* * *

Mary's car screeched into Marshall's driveway, followed closely by Bobby's cruiser. She had barely tuned off the engine before she was sprinting up the slight hill to his front door.

"Mary, wait!" Bobby called, not too far behind her.

"What, Bobby?" she asked, reaching the porch and banging on the door.

Bobby took her arm, more gently than she expected him to. "Wait. We don't know anything yet. Let's not go all guns blazing before we know what we're dealing with here."

She looked at him, wondering if he had lost his mind. "How many times did you try to call Marshall and he didn't pick up?"

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe once."

"Exactly. And that's you. I've called him 5 times in the last twelve hours, Stan twice. No answer, no call-backs. Now you want to tell me that something isn't seriously wrong?"

Bobby stared at her for a brief moment, then banged on the door with his fist. "Marshall! It's Bobby D, open up!"

There was no response from inside, and the two looked at each other.

"Screw this," Mary muttered as she stepped back, taking her gun out. "Ready?" she asked.

"Go," Bobby answered, his gun already out.

Giving an aggravated shout, she kicked the front door open and Bobby charged in. Not a sound met their ears. The entryway was completely empty, their steps echoing off of the wood paneled floor eerily. They scanned each of the other rooms, but all was quiet, no signs of intruders or of Marshall.

"Marshall?" Mary called as she searched, her voice echoing in the vacant rooms. "Marshall!"

"Marshall!" Bobby called, jogging throughout the house.

Mary ran a hand through her hair. "Dammit," she rasped, as she looked over the bedroom. His bed had not been slept in. It was neatly made, everything pristine. His closet was just as perfect, not a single shirt out of order. She sank down onto the bed, her knees suddenly weak. _Marshall…_

"Mary, he's not here," Bobby said, entering the room. "I've got windows open all over the house, and the back door is unlocked, but as far as I can tell, not a thing is out of place. There was an empty coffee cup on the table, and a few droplets too, but other than that…" He shrugged.

"Marshall would never leave a coffee cup on the table," she murmured, staring off at nothing. "He'd rinse it out and put it away. And no way in hell does he leave drops of coffee on that table."

"I'm gonna call it in, ok?"

She didn't respond, couldn't. Her last words to Marshall had been brutal, cruel and cutting. His last words to her had been scalding, too, but rightfully said. Hers had been pointless. Barbs tossed out for a reaction and nothing more. She hadn't even gotten to apologize yet, to make sure they were ok. That couldn't be all, that would not be how this ended.

Bobby touched her shoulder gently, and she jerked, looking up at him. "Hey, we'll find him, Mary."

She swallowed back tears and nodded, wishing she believed him.

"We will!" he insisted. Then he offered a smile. "We found you, didn't we? And I don't like you half as much as I like Marshall, so ain't no way in hell I'm letting him go missing."

She quirked a smile. "Gee, thanks."

He squeezed her shoulder and then turned from the room, pulling out his phone and calling his boys.

Mary closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. First Jason, now Marshall. Something was wrong. She would put a complete hold on finding Jason until they had found Marshall. As much as she protected her witnesses and cared about their safety, Marshall was her partner, her best friend, her _only_ friend. He was the most important person in her life. There was nothing she would not do to make sure he was safe, to get him back, to find the bastards who had taken him and crucify them. There were no other options to consider, no alternatives. Find him, kill them. It was as simple as that.

She could not do this without him.

Sniffing back the faint hint of tears, she pulled out her phone and dialed the office.

"McQueen," Stan answered brusquely.

"Stan," she said as strongly as she could, which was not very, "Marshall's gone."

* * *

Slowly, Marshall became aware that there was music playing. Through the pain-filled fog of his mind, he thought he heard the faint strains of some oldies tune coming from a radio behind him. He tried not to move, and couldn't seem to breathe, only managing weak, shallow breaths. His eyes were still bound, darkness becoming all-too familiar and just as terrifying.

"I must say, Marshall," the cold voice said with a sigh, and he heard something heavy being set down, "I am rather satisfied. I was very precise in my measures, and if I am correct, you now have three broken ribs. I would consider not breathing too heavily, if I were you. It will be quite painful. You will notice that, for the time being, I only utilized the left side of you. Do you know why?"

He didn't answer, but altered his breathing as much as he could. Flashes of the past few minutes replayed in his mind, and he recoiled visibly, sending searing pain down his left side.

"I asked if you know why, Marshall."

Again, he didn't answer, and clamped his lips together as if to restrain himself.

His hair was seized painfully and his body drawn slightly upward. He gasped at the pain and, though he had no vision at the moment, he felt it go spotty as lightheadedness added itself to his repertoire of sensations.

"It would be wise," the voice said harshly, as if through clenched teeth, "to answer me when I ask you questions, Marshall..."

A hard punch was thrown into his already damaged ribs, and Marshall let out a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and whimper, the agony only adding upon that which already existed.

"…because, if you could not already tell, you are in a very…"

Another punch. He bit down on his lower lip as a cry began in his chest.

"…precarious…"

Again, his broken ribs were struck. The cry grew louder and he drew blood from his lip.

"…situation!"

One final, hard blow, and Marshall's cry rent the air again, his entire body rigid.

Soft laughter met his ears as his mind tried to right itself, as pain pooled on his left side. His hair was released and he slumped against the ground, his breathing unsteady and painful, trying to take in as much air as possible without adding further pain to his ribs.

"Now, let's try this again. Do you know why I only used your left side?"

Marshall managed to shake his head.

"Tut, tut, not up on your anatomy are we? Well, I'll help you."

A finger poked into his ribs again, and Marshall inhaled sharply.

"On your left side, you have your stomach and pancreas at the bottom, and a lung and heart up top. But we've only worked on your seventh, eighth, and ninth ribs, so unless you do something stupid, there's no real danger to your lung. But on your right side…"

The finger, accompanied by the object used to inflict his previous pain, jabbed into his right side.

"…we have your liver and gallbladder right under those ribs. I can't be allowing you to bleed out and die before we're finished here, so I had to use your left side. I hope you don't mind."

Marshall flinched as the object, which felt a lot like a bat, if he recalled, ran up his ribs again. Though the hypersensitivity was beginning to wear off, the memory of it stung just as potent.

"I think we've had a good talk, Marshall. I think you begin to understand how things are going to work now. So I will allow you to rest for a while. We'll play again soon. There are many other things we have to try."

The man started to leave, went and turned off the radio, but then he stopped, and came back to Marshall's side. "Just in case, however,…" he murmured to himself.

Before Marshall could think, he was backhanded across the face with so much force his head slammed backwards hard against the pole he was bound to, sending bolts of agony into his eyes, ears, and everywhere. He felt the lightheadedness return and moaned weakly.

A satisfied sound came from his captor, whose footsteps faded, and Marshall heard him ascend steps and then there was silence.

Feebly he tried to test his bonds, but there was not strength enough to even do that. He laid his head back against the pole, and allowed himself a small sigh. "Mary," he whispered, wondering where she was, if she knew he was gone, if she was even now trying to find him. He knew she would eventually. She would hunt for him.

He just hoped she would find him before it was too late. Not for himself, he would accept whatever came, but for her. If she was too late, she would never forgive herself.

He could not bear that.

He shifted slightly and his head and side flared in protest at the movement, and Marshall slowly felt himself slipping back into the oblivion, where there was no pain…only darkness.

* * *

"Mary... Mary!"

She jerked out of her stupor and looked up at Stan. "What?"

He squatted down in front of her and sighed. "You gonna be okay?"

She nodded once, then again when he looked unconvinced. "We'll find him, Stan, and then we'll hunt down these bastards."

"Damn straight." He stood and took her arm, pulling her off of Marshall's bed, "Come on. Let's get started."

He led her into the kitchen, where Sara was speaking with the ABQPD forensics team, who had just arrived. She turned at their approach, her jaw tightening when she saw Mary, and she looked down at her papers.

"Chief, the neighbors did not see or hear anything out of the ordinary last night. Inspector Mann's car is in the garage, no damage inflicted. The mug and droplets on the table are going to be taken and processed, and the forensics team is going to start in on fingerprinting all windows, doors, and any other surface they can." She was speaking rapidly, studiously avoiding anyone's gaze, and Mary felt her guilt rise even more.

Her partner was missing, had been taken, and this woman she had so aggressively attacked the night before was here, taking charge, making sure things were being done quickly and efficiently. Sara might have been a lot of the things Mary hated most about rookies, but she obviously knew what she was doing.

"We've taken Inspector Mann's cell phone, and Detective Dershowitz is running the numbers now, but…"

"But we're the ones who've made the most recent calls," Stan finished, his calm, straightforward voice almost hiding his own frustration and worry.

Sara nodded, glancing over to Mary finally.

"Sara," Mary began, her voice hoarse and quiet, "I—"

"Save it, ok?" she interrupted, a little harshly.

Mary clamped her mouth shut and glanced over at Stan, who also looked shocked.

Sara exhaled, and laid a hand on Mary's arm. "Save it until this is over. We don't have time right now. Inspector Mann said you're damn good, and I'm gonna trust him on that, okay?"

Relief washed over Mary, and she nodded. Sara dropped her arm quickly and went to speak with Stan out of her earshot. She didn't care.

_Two apologies down, Marshall_, she thought as she sank into one of the kitchen chairs. _Hang in there so I can get to number three._

She stared at the floor, wondering what might have happened last night. She should have known that he wouldn't have ignored her like that, not all night. He would have answered, if for no other reason that to be sure she was okay. No matter how mad he might have been at her over the course of their partnership, he had still always been there for her.

So what could have happened? It took a lot to take Marshall by surprise, so unless it had been a number of men with SWAT-like precision and stealth, it could not have been an ambush. He would have been home, unsuspecting. Casual. Distracted, maybe? That would have made sense. If he had been distracted, it wouldn't have been nearly as difficult to take him. Even so, Marshall was both strong and quick, and for no one to have heard or seen anything was unnerving.

_Marshall, where are you?_

She put her head in her hands and stared down at the floor. If anything happened to her partner…

Something on the dark wood floor caught her eye and she pushed her chair back to get a closer look. On her hands and knees, she peered at the small, slightly smeared dots. What in the…? She gasped as it clicked in her head.

"I've got blood!" she yelled.

Three ABQPD forensic team members were at her side in an instant, Bobby right behind them, looking at it from above. "Why didn't you guys catch that?" he barked.

"We haven't processed the kitchen yet," one of them answered, not at all put off by Bobby's tone.

"Well, do it!" Mary snapped, allowing Bobby to help her up. "Do it now!"

Bobby led her away from them for a moment and looked around. "That could be the abductor's blood…" he said softly.

"Or it could be Marshall's, yeah, I know," Mary replied softly, wiping her forehead with a hand. "I'm gonna bet its Marshall's."

"Why's that?"

She folded her arms across her chest and looked up at him incredulously. "Because if Marshall got a piece of that guy, there's no way in hell this place looks as neat as it does, are you kidding me?"

Bobby grunted, a small smile quirking one side of his mouth. "Yeah, guess you're right about that." He sighed in frustration. "Okay, here's what we're gonna do: we're going to run this investigation out of your office, but we'll have my guys doing the grunt work. We're pulling out all the stops on this one, Mary, I promise."

She patted his chest and smiled. "Thanks, Bobby. I'm gonna take Stan and Sara back to the office and start running anything we've got with Eleanor. Keep me posted?"

"Absolutely. I'll head over there when this is done. Might wanna order some dinner, it's gonna be a late one." He slapped her shoulder and made his way back into the kitchen.

She snorted as she walked away, and went in search of Stan and Sara. It was going to be a long haul over the next few hors, but she would do whatever she had to to get her partner back.

And there would be hell to pay for those who took him.

* * *

**Duh duh duhhhhhh, Mary's ticked! What's she gonna do? What's really going on? Where is Marshall and why am I hurting him so much? Questions will be answered soon enough, my friends. In the meantime, please make me happy and review...please? =)**


	6. Chapter 6

I wish I could tell you that Marshall will stop hurting now...I wish I could tell you that they'll find him now...I wish I could tell you things get better now...but I can't. Sorry about that, but hopefully you'll like what I have anyway...as much as any of us like an injured, captive Marshall...

**DISCLAIMER: **All I own is hope, people. That's all I got.

* * *

Marshall woke to darkness again. Darkness and silence. He listened carefully, but could hear no indication of anyone or anything near him. His brain was hazy at best, his mouth dry, and his side and head throbbed painfully. He tried to take an evaluation of his physical state, but moving was agonizing. It seemed that even the slightest shift sent lightning up his side, directly into his head. He clenched his fingers as best as he could, but having his arms strapped above his head for an extended period of time had rendered the appendages weak and slow to respond to any stimulus he was able to provide.

If only he could tell if it was night or day, he might be able to estimate how long he'd been held hostage. He had not had anything to eat or drink since his capture, and, given the damage already inflicted upon him, his body was rapidly declining. And if he were to understand his captor, more pain was forthcoming.

Marshall was a well informed man. He knew the human body could only endure so much, and that if he was not found soon, he would not last much longer. He knew all of that. But even so, he was determined that he would not go without a fight. Somehow, he would find a way to endure whatever would come, so he could see justice done, so he could know that he had not surrendered to fear and despair, so he could see Mary one more time.

He heard floorboards creaking above him, coming in the direction of the stairs. He was not ashamed of the fear that rose in him, but he was determined to not show it. He would not resist, for that seemed to only bring more aggression. His reactions were what fueled his captor, whoever he was. Perhaps if he drew upon the little strength he had left, he might be able to refrain from expressing the pain and fear he felt, and thus earn himself enough time to be rescued alive.

_Or just earn you a more severe beatin_g.

He winced as the nagging voice in his head pointed out that small detail. That was a plausible alternative. It may only further incense the man that Marshall would not respond to his ministrations.

The footsteps began descending the stairs and Marshall swallowed hastily. He needed to prod his captor a little to find out just which direction he should take this to extend his chances of survival.

"I have to go out for a while, Marshall," the man said as he approached. "I hope you don't mind. It will only be a very short while."

He gripped Marshall's chin in a hand and turned his face from side to side, then clucked softly. "Oh, that bruise looks bad. But lucky for you, your nose does not appear to be broken. That eye will get swollen, though. And the cut…well, you might have a dashing scar from now on. You should thank me, Marshall. It improves your look, I think."

"I would like to make that call for myself, if I may," Marshall managed, his voice dry and hoarse from lack of use.

The man chuckled and dropped Marshall's face, then patted his head like one would a dog. "No, no, that would spoil everything! As frustrating as this may be for you, my dear Marshall, you must not be allowed to see until just the right moment. Never fear, it is coming."

Marshall heard the man walk away, but then he heard something else, something that scraped briefly against the cement floor. Something metal. He shifted anxiously as the man approached again, unable to move very far, and not at all comfortably.

"Now, now, Marshall, try to relax. Tensing will only make things worse."

There was no warning, no way to prepare for what happened next: whatever metal object his captor had in his possession was flung into Marshall's expanded and exposed solar plexus with such force that not only was any and all breath expelled from his lungs, but he retched again and again.

Pain welled in his head as he attempted to recover, as he managed to begin taking short, shallow breaths that provided no relief and, in fact, caused more pain to his broken ribs than deep breaths,

"Interesting reaction," came the cold, amused voice. "It is a good thing for me that there is nothing left in your stomach, or we would have quite a mess, wouldn't we? That must have hurt. But just for the hell of it, let's go again."

Marshall tensed, but nothing came. No sound, hardly a breath.

Then, just when he thought nothing would come, it did.

Again, the metal object was slammed into his solar plexus, this time at a higher angle, and Marshall knew instantly, through the oxygen deprived haze he now found himself, that one of those broken ribs was now in very great danger of puncturing a lung. Any more blows and it certainly would. Any sudden movements on his part and it would.

He vaguely heard laughter and footsteps fade as his mind came into focus, but the pain was so unbearable he couldn't manage to care. He was now trapped not only by his captor, but by his own limitations. His only hope now was Mary.

"Mary," he whispered, wincing as using the very smallest amounts of air was agonizing. "Mary…"

* * *

"There _has_ to be something here. There just has to be!"

Mary was sitting at Marshall's desk as she had been all day, rifling through the abnormally congested piles of papers and files and various other apparently useless documents that she had managed to accumulate over the course of the day, searching for anything that might have clued her in as to why Marshall would be taken.

But there was nothing. Not a hint, not even a whisper of any disagreements with any of his witnesses or anybody else. By all accounts, no one wanted to hurt Marshall at all. At least, not enough to do something like this.

"Dammit!" Mary yelled, slamming her hands on the top of the desk, then running them into her hair, gripping tightly.

Sara, Eleanor, and Bobby, working individually across the room, jerked up at the sound, then all looked at each other briefly. Mary had been having occasional outbursts all day, and none of them were quite certain what to do about it. They were all tired, frustrated, and desperate for any clues at all, but nothing compared to the apparent agony Mary was suffering.

"Mary," Sara began softly, knowing she needed to tread carefully.

"Don't say anything if it's not going to help, Sara, or I swear to God…" Mary growled sharply, not even raising her head. Then she sighed and dropped her hands. "I'm sorry, Sara. I just-"

"I know. Don't worry about it."

Mary looked up and at Sara's sincere nod, she flicked a small smile, then went back to her random shuffling.

"Find something, find something," she muttered to herself, her eyes flying across pages of information, then jerking to the computer screen as she frantically clicked away. "Find something, find anything, _dammit_!"

"Mary." Stan's hand was suddenly gripping her shoulder.

"No!" she yelled, flinging it off and scooting away. "No, I will find something. He found me, and I am _going_ to find him!"

"I know, Mary," Stan said, his hand again on her shoulder. "I know. But not right now. Get out of here, take a couple of hours. We'll keep working here until you get back. Clear your head, get into Marshall's head. You'll figure it out."

She looked up at her boss with exhausted eyes. "The blood was his, Stan. That is all we know. The end. No finger prints. No phone calls. No…no anything."

"I _know_, Mary. Take a break, okay? We're not giving up on Marshall. Bobby's guys are checking out everything we might have, and you know he won't let them slack a centimeter. We'll find the bastard and take him down, all right? Marshall's tough, he'll hang on for us."

Mary nodded, wishing she felt as confident. She knew Marshall was tough, she knew everything she needed to about him…except where he was. If he was hurt. If he was alive.

She stood up and grabbed her coat, her eyes swimming in unshed tears. "I'll call you if I think of anything," she murmured.

"We'll do the same," Stan assured her.

She nodded to the group as a whole and left without looking back.

Outside, the evening air did little to soothe her. She shivered against it and pulled her jacket around her more tightly as she leaned against her car. Where was Marshall? Why couldn't she figure this out?

Her partner, her best friend, was out there somewhere, being held against his will, enduring God knows what, and she couldn't save him. If only they hadn't been fighting last night. She might have been with him at the office, figuring things out, putting pieces together. She would have been with him instead of leaving him alone to worry and wonder what was wrong with her. She knew he had been, that was his nature. He would wait for her to make the first move, but she always knew that he was far more concerned about her than she would like to think. He always looked out for her, knew what she needed, how to help…

Marshall was everything she needed and more. And now he was gone and she couldn't find him.

Sniffing away a fresh batch of tears, she got into her car and drove, knowing exactly where she needed to be right now. Her mind was somewhere between a complete blank and a mass of insanity as she pulled up to Marshall's house. She turned off the car and rested her head on the steering wheel, closing her eyes tightly. "Hold on, Marshall," she whispered. "Wherever you are, just hold on."

After a few long moments, she got out of the car and made her way to the house, ducking under the yellow tape. She looked around as she entered, hoping to see something different, that something had changed in her absence.

It hadn't. Everything was just as neat and tidy as it had been before. Everything just as Marshall had left it. Well, except for what the police had taped off or taken as evidence.

Mary sank onto the couch in the front room and took in the surroundings. She had been in Marshall's home one or two times before, but she'd never really noticed how…_homey_ it was. It hardly looked like the bachelor pad he probably should have had. It looked like the living room of a family, and she half expected to see a couple of towheaded kids who spouted off encyclopedia trivia running around. It was beyond comfortable. It made her house look like some fancy schmancy hotel. Nice, but formal. She could easily spend some serious time here in this room, and especially on this couch, and she vowed that when all of this was over and Marshall was safe, she would do so. With him.

She didn't spend enough down time with him. They always either took care of witnesses or her problems, but they rarely did anything he wanted to. She knew they were closer than any other partners, and probably more than your average best friends. It was the nature of their jobs. They had been forced to trust each other very early on, and for some reason, Marshall was the only partner she had ever had that hadn't bailed. She knew very well that she was a lot to handle, and she didn't blame anyone who couldn't hack it.

Marshall had done more than hack it. He owned it.

He owned _her_.

To Mary's surprise, she suddenly felt tears on her cheeks. She touched them in wonder, curious as to how they had gotten there without her noticing. But then, Marshall had that effect on people. He somehow got underneath your skin and made himself at home, and by the time you noticed, you had gotten so used to him that you couldn't even mind. He made people feel things they didn't know they'd been missing.

Closing her eyes against more tears, she lay back on the couch and pulled one of the blankets on top over her. Somehow, she felt closer to him now, and she only hoped and yes, even prayed, that she wouldn't be too late to find him.

"Marshall," she whispered softly, burying her face into the couch, getting the faintest hint of his scent, "where are you?"

Mary woke up with a start some time later, not knowing when or how she had fallen asleep. She looked around, disoriented, wondering where in hell she was. Piece by piece, it all came back: what the day had brought, why she was still in her work clothes, why she was in Marshall's house …Marshall… She shook her head and rubbed at her eyes. There wasn't time to be sleeping when he was missing.

She got up and walked out of the house slowly, her mind on a million and five different things at once. If Marshall had been able to leave any clues at all, he would have. The fact that there was nothing—nothing_ yet_, she corrected herself—meant that he had been taken completely by surprise. Which meant something pre-meditated and not obvious.

Great. So they were dealing with a scheming bastard from left field with an agenda.

_But why Marshall?_

She snorted as she pulled out her keys to unlock her car. Marshall didn't offend or irritate anybody, except maybe her on those mornings before she'd had coffee and he was spouting off his useless litany of randomness. A smile crossed her lips. Did she just say _litany_? The dork's vocabulary was rubbing off on her. She couldn't wait to tell him that, to give him hell for it.

Something tight and thick was suddenly drawn tight around her mouth and nose, and her head was placed in a vice like grip. She struggled, but with the gasp of shock and surprise had been an intake of something that tasted a lot like hospital anesthetic, and she felt herself sinking into a strange state somewhere between awake and asleep. Her arms and legs became heavy, and she felt herself lose her footing on the gravel driveway.

"That's it, Mary," a strange voice soothed through the fog.

She tried to ask who he was, what he wanted, but she couldn't find the connection between her brain and her mouth. Odd, she'd realized there was one before…

She felt herself being carried, not roughly like a captive, but gently…like someone would a child or a loved one…or a lover…

_What the hell?_

And then everything went dark and silent.

* * *

**Oh yes, I went there. Now Mary's in trouble too! And Marshall can't save her! Things are gonna get CRAZAY! Review please, and don't throw rotten vegetables. They're a mess to clean off of my computer screen. =)**


	7. Chapter 7

So...are you ready to kill me yet? Don't answer that. Good times ahead...well, not really, but sort of.

**Disclaimer:** Wish I did, but I don't, thanks for the reminder.

* * *

"Coffee, y'all!" Bobby called as he entered the WitSec office early, having managed around three hours of sleep, and feeling almost worse for it. "We're gonna need a lot of coffee," he muttered to himself. He needed at least a venti double shot espresso before he could even think about functioning at the top of his game, and he knew that his marshal friends would need something as well, and Mary would need at least four before he could talk to her.

The expressions Sara, Eleanor, and Stan's faces stopped him in his tracks.

"What?" he asked, setting the coffees on the nearest table and heading towards them.

"We got something while you were gone," Sara said quietly, her eyes slightly red from fatigue, her face lined with worry.

"That's good, right?" Bobby asked, looking between the three of them. "We got a break, this is good!"

She shook her head and waved a fax, then read it. "The analysis of the coffee droplets found on Marshall's table indicated a combination of synthetic cysteine-cysteine chemokine ligand 21 and flunitrazepam. That's a modified pain receptor mixed with a roofie, and the potency of each was increased by being added to coffee, so it took effect almost immediately. He would have been entirely incapacitated and able to feel everything at ten times its normal pain." She swallowed hard and set the paper down.

Bobby swore softly under his breath. No wonder everyone looked worried. "Has anyone called Mary?"

Sara looked up at Stan, who cleared his throat. "We've been trying to call Mary ever since we received word three hours ago."

A cold feeling flared in Bobby's stomach. No way in hell would Mary have not answered a call from them with Marshall missing. "No," he breathed.

Stan nodded. "Eleanor went to her house and just got back."

"No one was home," Eleanor said softly, a worried furrow appearing between her brows. "Her car isn't there. It looks like she never went home last night."

Bobby turned on his heel and walked quickly out.

"Where are you going, Detective?" Stan called, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"Marshall's. Mary would have gone to Marshall's."

He heard Stan swear and bang something, but didn't turn to look. If his bad feeling turned out to be true, someone was kicking at a beehive. And they would be on the receiving end of a very nasty sort of hell when they were caught.

Stan paced back and forth in his office, his cell phone in hand. Bobby had left almost twenty minutes ago and he had heard nothing. Out his window, he could see Eleanor pretending to be busy at her computer and Sara with her head down on her arms at her improvised desk. He doubted she was actually sleeping.

His phone vibrated in his grasp and he jerked it up, answering as it reached his ear. "Go," he ordered.

"Her car's here, but no sign of her. She slept on the couch, but she's gone. I got nothing, Stan, no tire tracks, no signs of struggle, no footprints, not even a damn timeline. Not a damn thing."

Stan dropped his phone momentarily as he closed his eyes tightly. "Dammit!" he bellowed punching his office door. He made a fist against it, and rested his forehead on it, then brought his phone back up. "Bobby, we gotta pull out all the stops."

"Already on it. My guys are going over every inch of this place again, with a magnifying glass, if they have to. I'll light fires under as many butts as I have to to get this done."

"I'll have Sara call our Seattle office and get them to do the same. No way are these isolated incidents. Jason, Marshall, now Mary…somebody wants all of them. Badly. I'll contact the FBI agent in charge of Jason's case, see if anything shakes out."

"Got it. Want me to head back over there?"

Stan sighed and looked out of the window, where he could see Eleanor and Sara already hard at work, both on the phone. "Why don't you go on over to your office and work from there for the time being? If we need you, we'll call."

"Sounds good. Let's catch these bastards."

"You got it." He hung up and exited his office to give his staff the news, but they were still busy.

"I don't care what you have to do, Tom, this is an emergency. Failure is not an option, and if you can't take care of this, then I cannot be held responsible for what your wife will or will not hear from me. And if I have to go over your head, then I will. George and I are old friends, but that might not work out very well for you." Eleanor smiled tightly and cocked her head. "That's what I thought. Okay, here's what I need…"

Stan looked over at Sara, who seemed to have matured with 5 years of experience in the last 36 hours, and earned a share of Mary's toughness in the process.

"Go over everything, you hear me? Every. Thing. Every block he walked, every bus he took, every laundromat he used, every gas station he bought a freaking slushie at. Show his picture, he's been using different names for some reason, so check anything you can find for Jason Garritt, Goring, or Griffin. But the picture will be the key. …No, I am not joking, Darren! We have a missing witness, and two missing inspectors. TWO! And these guys are good, Darren, the best. You think I would call you right now and ask you to do something as a joke? Go to hell!" She moved to hang up the phone, but then she heard Darren protesting, and with a sigh, brought the phone back to her ear. "What?...Thank you." She dropped the phone and looked up at Stan. "They're on it."

He smiled slightly. "I can tell."

"I've got people looking around in Gary for the mob connection. And I've updated the requests for records to include known aliases," Eleanor chimed in from her desk.

"Excellent. I take it you both heard everything?" They nodded, and he sighed. "Okay, I think we should go over everything again. So what have we got so far?"

* * *

The darkness was painful. It was the first thing she became aware of. But darkness should not cause pain. Darkness hid, protected, soothed. Darkness was easy and simple, a stark contrast to the harsh complexity of light. Light could burn, blind, and hurt. Light was piercing. Light was sharp. Light was painful. Darkness was tranquil. Darkness was gentle. Darkness did not hurt. And yet here she was, knowing only darkness, and feeling nothing but pain.

Her eyes ached, vainly trying to see, to discover, to assess. It was so dark, not even a sliver of light was to be had. She could see nothing, couldn't even get her bearings. Her mind, foggy and disoriented, struggled to work clearly. She gradually became aware of her breathing, raspy, harsh, not natural. Her head throbbed, pulsing in time with her heart, thudding a painful beat throughout her entire being.

The heat, the air, the very environment, whatever it was, was oppressive. It closed in on her, never ceasing in its attack, never giving her a respite. Panic started to swell within her, making her head swim even more.

Where was she? What had happened? Why was she in darkness?

She forced herself to take a few slow, deep breaths, and slowly the ability to think was restored. Gingerly, she made an evaluation of what she could. There was something around her eyes, which would explain the darkness, she hoped. She tried to open her eyes, but the band was so tight, she could not. Her arms and shoulders were bare, meaning her sleeves must have ripped at some point. She didn't remember that. She was restrained, tied by the hands, bound behind her around a wooden post. It chafed her arms, and the rope burned against her wrists. The knot seemed secure, but she thought she would be able to loosen it, if given the time. Her legs were sore and heavy, but unbound, and stretched out before her. She was sitting on a hard floor, cement she assumed, based on the pain now shooting into her pelvic bone. That would probably put her in a cellar or a basement.

She swallowed down another wave of panic and fear. _Not another one, please God, not another one_.

She shifted restlessly, and heard a rustling from somewhere to her right. She jerked her head, following the sound, now approaching. Heavy footsteps crunching against what sounded like sand on the concrete came closer and her heart sped up its frantic pace.

"Ah, Mary, you seem to be coming around." The amused voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. The footsteps were in front of her now, pacing slightly. "I wondered how long it would take you to wake up. I can only guess at these things, abductions have never really been in my repertoire."

She licked her cracked and dry lips and spoke carefully. "Yeah, well, it seems to be going all right on my end."

The man chuckled, and it was not a pleasing sound. "I can tell. You still have that infallible sense of humor, don't you?"

"Never leave home without it. What do you want?"

"Oh, don't be afraid, Mary. I've invited you here for a good reason, and it will all come out in time. I confess, I am a little disappointed that you hadn't already figured me out."

"Me too." Her mind raced, struggling to piece together everything that had occurred over the last few days, but she couldn't come up with any good explanations. No obvious connections, just Jason's disappearance, then Marshall's, and now hers. What tied them all together? Or were they connected?

The man shifted again, off to her right. "It's been a long time, Mary. I've been waiting for just the right moment to see you again. Much has changed since our last meeting. You are just as exquisite as ever, though. The years have been very kind to you."

Dear God, was this guy flirting with her? That was uncomfortable. But she attempted to use what he was saying to figure him out.

"I wondered how much you knew about what happened. I don't think it would have happened the way it did if you had been involved, which led me to believe that you were mostly unaware. I apologize for that, but it was entirely out of my control."

What was he talking about? What happened? Who was he? How did they know each other? She twisted her wrists, trying to loosen the rope. She needed to get out of here, she needed to find Marshall.

"But I am back in control now, Mary. I am calling all of the shots. And I think that it is time that we should end your suspense now, don't you? Let's see if I have managed to surprise you for once, shall we?"

Not waiting for her reply, he moved. Suddenly there were hands at the back of her head, releasing the knot, and then….

Blinding light.

More painful than the dark.

Light was worse than darkness.

Through the pain, blinking away the sudden tears, Mary could barely see something—no, some_one_—lying on the dirty floor across the room. Squinting still against the brightness of the room, her eyes struggled to adjust. Pieces came to her in rapid succession.

A man, unconscious, badly bruised, bloodied, and bound. He had a black cloth tied tightly around his eyes, and his breathing was barely noticeable. His shirt was shredded, practically nothing on him at all, and his jeans were filthy, as if he'd been down here a long time. Tall, long limbs, narrow torso, chiseled features…

She gasped in horror as she made out the identity of her fellow captive.

"Marshall!"

And from behind her, she heard cold laughter, and felt cool fingers on her bare shoulder. "Surprise."

* * *

**Duh duh DUHHHHHH. Sorry, couldn't resist. Things get pretty scary after this for a bit, but I PROMISE the end is worth it. Reviews make me happy, which means more goodies for the rest of you!**


	8. Chapter 8

Hello there! So our poor marshals have been reunited...but now what? What the crap is going on? Well...you get a taste of that here. And I know that some of this may seem a little far-fetched, but go with it, okay? Pretend it's not and be impressed. =)

**Disclaimer:** IPS is not mine, nor will it ever be, much to my shame

* * *

"How can we still have nothing?" Stan burst out, frustrated beyond belief that they had found so little to help his missing inspectors, let alone their missing witness. Six hours since Mary had been missing, almost thirty-six for Marshall. Time was running out and so were their options.

"I don't know," Sara mourned, going through papers again. "It doesn't help that those two went off the other day and didn't leave any notes about what they were thinking."

"We've looked into the mob connection, right? Nothing from that angle?" Stan asked, looking between the two.

"Nothing obvious," Eleanor said with a sigh. "Nothing that can directly tie our witness to anything."

"As far as we could tell, he was clean in Seattle from that standpoint," Sara offered. "A couple of strange things, like going to seedy bars by himself, going to his gym trainer on off days, visiting his neighbor a few times a week, and then cashing out that account."

"Gym trainer? How long had he been doing that?"

She looked puzzled. "From day one, near as I can tell. Got involved in boxing, looks like. And he went four days a week, never missed. Why?"

Stan frowned. "Because Jason was the smallest little shrimp of a guy I've ever seen. Never even looked at a barbell the entire time we had him."

"Starting to work out is no indication of trouble. Especially if he was that little."

"No, but it's not normal to start something so intensely when you've never done it before. I want that trainer interviewed. Now." Sara nodded and picked up her phone again. Stan turned to Eleanor, who was watching him with concern. "Have you heard anything, hon?"

She shook her head. "Nothing good, not yet, at least. FBI has no new leads, and nobody around Seattle has seen or heard from Jason. And obviously, nothing on Mary or Marshall." She sighed and looked back at her computer. "They couldn't just vanish, Stan, they've got to be somewhere."

"I know, I know. But right now we aren't even looking for a needle in a haystack. We don't even know what the needle looks like, let alone where the haystack is."

Eleanor heard the defeat, the frustration in his voice and looked up at him. "You'll figure this out, Stan. We'll get all of them back."

He nodded, and headed for his office, not nearly as confident as he would have liked to be. But something had to shake out sooner or later.

He just hoped it would be before they had a body to go with their clues.

His phone buzzed and he answered quickly. "McQueen."

"Stan, we got a break." Bobby's voice was exuberant, and Stan sank into a chair with a relieved sigh.

"Go."

"Squirrelly little guy named Danny Remaley came into the precinct about ten minutes ago with a box of letters. Ask specifically for Mary or Marshall."

Stan sat up straighter and waved Sara and Eleanor into his office. They jumped and ran in, standing by his desk anxiously. "Danny Remaley, that's our witness's boss from here. Mary and Marshall must have seen him the other day."

"Yeah, he said they talked about Jason Goring and he told them that Jason had been writing him since he moved to Seattle. They asked for those letters, said they might help them find Jason. I guess he was supposed to bring them in yesterday but forgot."

"So you have those letters now?"

"Mmhmm. Haven't read them yet, want me to bring them over?"

"Yeah. Come on over, let's see what Jason was writing to Danny about."

"Be there in fifteen."

In reality, it was more like ten minutes before Bobby was back at the Sunshine building and barely three after that before all four of them were pouring over letters. Danny had really come through for them, giving them copies of his replies to Jason's letters that he had saved on his computer.

"Damn," Sara hissed as she read through a few of them. "How did we not catch this? Contact with his former life, using his old name, exposing himself like that… Why didn't I see it?"

"Don't beat yourself up," Stan soothed. "It's a post office box, not his street address."

"But why would we miss that? It's been going on from the beginning, I don't..." her voice trailed off and her eyes lost focus for a second.

"Sara?" Stan snapped his fingers in front of her, and she didn't seem to notice.

"He had an inside man. He had to, there's no way we missed this."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bobby interrupted, "inside, like in the marshal service? Or are we talking just the postal service?"

She shook her head, looking at him. "I don't know. But he had to, right? We wouldn't have missed something like this."

Stan nodded, a wear sigh escaping him. "Run it. Check with someone that you can trust, Sara. If we've got a breach in WitSec, we need to keep it quiet until we know."

"You got it."

He turned to Bobby. "Bobby, think you could catch Remaley again? Ask him about Jason, but I really want to know about Mary and Marshall. Sara's right, we don't have anything about what they were thinking. We have to look at this from square one."

Bobby rose from his seat. "Absolutely. He was pretty worried about Jason, told us he'd do anything he could to help."

"Good. In fact, I'm gonna come with you. I'd like to ask Danny a few questions myself. Something about this feels…off."

Bobby nodded. "Very off." He turned to Sara. "Let me know if you find anything in those letters worth pursuing, ok?"

On the phone with Seattle, Sara merely gave him a faint smile and a thumbs up.

"Stay tight and in contact, guys," Stan urged, grabbing his coat. "We can't lose anybody else, and we've gotta find them."

* * *

"What do you think, Mary?" her captor asked, still stroking her shoulder. "I thought you'd be surprised. After all, he is the great Marshall Mann, poster boy for the Marshal Service, who could possibly bring him down?" He laughed mirthlessly. "But I managed to surprise all of you."

Mary barely heard him as her eyes hungrily scanned Marshall as best they could from her position. He was alive, but definitely not well. There was a slight tremor running through him, and he looked exhausted. There were angry marks on his wrists where the metal handcuffs rubbed the skin raw, and his ankles were bound by plastic ties. Beneath his blindfold, she could see that one eyes was badly swollen.

"Poor Marshall. So weak, so inept. Can't even protect his partner properly."

"Shut up," Mary snarled, testing her bonds again. They wouldn't budge yet, but if she worked them just right, maybe they would eventually.

"Not only that, but it is so easy to make him scream. I figured him to be tougher than that, but he breaks easier than dried twigs. Squirms and squeals like a little girl. Stubborn little bugger, though, I'll give him that. But he's cracking, so it's only a matter of time before your little partner becomes my little puppet, and then the fun can really begin."

"I told you to shut up, you son of a —" She gasped as the man's face came into view and her words died in her throat. The face that had been haunting her for days was now in front of her: Jason Garritt, her missing witness.

He grinned humorlessly, crinkling the corners of his pale green eyes. "Now you look at me. All that time you were watching him, looking at him, completely ignoring me. He is such a distraction for you, Mary. You have blinded yourself into thinking that he is some great man worthy of your attention. It is my intention to open your eyes and see what is right in front of you, what has been there all along."

"Jason, what are you doing?" she whispered, her insides turning to ice.

"I love you, Mary. I have loved you for a long time, and you know you love me too. Marshall has been in our way from day one. He took me away from you, and there was nothing you could do about it. But now…now we can be together and take care of Marshall once and for all."

Mary slowly licked her bottom lip, and chose her words carefully. "Jason, I don't love you. I never did, and I never will. You were just my witness, and Marshall was just looking out for me, and—"

He laughed in real amusement. "Oh, Mary, such denial! This is why we have to go through all of this, don't you see? This is all for you." He rose from his feet and headed over to Marshall's still form. "I think we need to wake our little friend here and let him know what is happening. He's been a touch confused lately."

"Don't you touch him, Jason!" Mary ordered, her voice rising in both pitch and volume.

He smiled at her, put a finger to his lips, then kicked Marshall in the ribs, where Mary could see nasty bruising through the shards of shirt. "Time to wake up, Marshall," he crooned mockingly.

Marshall jerked awake with a rasping gasp of agony. He turned his body so he was on his uninjured side, bringing his aching knees to his chest. He froze as he realized his ability to turn.

"Yes, I have taken you down from your little pole, Marshall. But never fear, I will have you put back up there soon. In the meantime, do enjoy your little reprieve. Wake up, Marshall." A sharp kick to the lower left side of his back made him grunt in pain, and moan as he felt his shattered ribs shift again.

"Come, come, Marshall, you must sit up, there is a surprise for you and you must be polite." The man was almost giggling with delight, which immediately made Marshall wary.

He struggled to sit up, but could not manage to. His captor sighed and seized Marshall's arms, hauling him to a sitting position, then dragging him back to the bream he had been attached to earlier. His wrists were once more dragged above his head, and hooked somehow. Then the man was in front of him once more. Marshall could feel the fingers at the back of his head, and then, suddenly, the tightness around his head and eyes was released, but the fabric still remained. The hand still played with the ends of the fabric behind his head.

"I'm going to take this off of you now, Marshall, if you are ready for the surprise."

He swallowed, not at all comfortable with the idea of surprises from this man.

"Are you ready, Marshall?" He was enjoying this far too much.

Marshall didn't respond.

A jab to his ribs sent all the air out of his lungs with a sharp wheeze, and he heard an answering hiss from somewhere beyond his captor. Someone else was in the room.

"Are you ready, Marshall?" the man repeated.

Marshall nodded once, his head throbbing.

With great flourish, the fabric was removed and blinding light scalded Marshall's eyes, sending the pain in his head off of any and all charts of previously known pain. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing the pulsing behind his eyes to subside. Gradually, it did, and only then did he pry his eyes open.

He had trouble making out the face in front of him, his captor. He had dark, curly hair, and piercing pale green eyes. It only took a moment for Marshall to recognize him. The face had filled out, aged, and grown stubble, but it was still the same man Marshall and Mary had been spending the last few days trying to find.

"Jason," he rasped, his voice weak and hoarse.

Jason nodded proudly. "You had no idea, did you, Marshall? I knew it. I knew I had outsmarted you."

Marshall shook his head as insistently as he could manage.

"No?"

"I thought…I thought you might…" Marshall tried to explain his suspicions, but his agitation sped up his breathing, and he couldn't get the air necessary to complete even one sentence.

"But you didn't figure it out!" Jason offered him a demented, cheeky grin. "I bested you, Marshall. That is lesson one of the day. And now we will go for your second surprise, but I don't think this one will be as fun for you as it is for me."

Dread filled Marshall at Jason's words. If this was all about a personal agenda, then there was only one thing that Jason would be in Albuquerque for, just one thing that could drive him to such ends, send him over the psychotic brink.

Jason stepped away and, blinking away the additional sunlight from the high window, Marshall could make out another person across the room, tied to a wooden beam, clothing slightly torn. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of her. Her hair gleamed in the light and her gaze was fixed on him intently, worry, concern, and fatigue all evident in it.

Mary.

"No," he breathed, knowing that neither of them could hear it.

A sad smile flicked across her face, and she shrugged one shoulder as best as she could. It may have been a trick of the light and his weak vision, but he thought he saw the sheen of tears in those beautiful green eyes.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wood, a pained sigh escaping him. He winced at the delighted laughter he heard from Jason, and swallowed harshly.

"See, Marshall? I told you I would like it more than you. You wouldn't like to see Mary tied to a beam, knowing that you can't save her. Knowing that you are too weak to do anything about it."

"Shut up, Jason," Mary hissed, seeing Marshall cringe.

"No, Mary, you need to understand. This man is a coward. I have seen the way he looks at you, how he follows you around like a lapdog. He waits for your every word. Why do you think he sent me away, Mary? This sad little man thinks he is in love with you. He thinks he is supposed to protect you, to make sure that you have no other options, but he wasn't going to tell you, or do anything about it, oh no. He was too scared to tell you."

She wanted to tell Jason to shut up again, to stop this, but she couldn't say a word, not when Marshall's face looked so tormented. The brief kicks and jabs she had just seen had caused him pain, but it was nothing compared to his expression now. Surely it couldn't be…

"How do you think she feels about you now, Marshall?" Jason sneered, bringing his face close to Marshall's. "Look at her, Marshall." He seized his hair and yanked it back, forcing Marshall to straighten. He grabbed his chin, and forced his face towards Mary. "Look at her!"

Slowly, Marshall opened his eyes, and they were immediately fixed on Mary's. Pain and sorrow and regret laced his weary blue eyes, and it took Mary's breath away.

"You see her, Marshall?" Jason breathed into his ear. "See how she pities you. See how pathetic you appear to her. How are you going to protect her? How can you save her? You can't. You cannot, Marshall."

"Stop it!" Mary yelled, seeing Marshall visibly falter under his words.

"She's here in this basement with you, Marshall. Captured. I got to her. She is at my mercy. Can you see how you have failed? How can she love a man who has failed so miserably?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Mary screeched, tears falling from her eyes at the growing despair she saw on her partner's face, the moisture in his eyes as he began to accept it.

"Well, Marshall, she knows now. She knows what a coward you have been, how weak you have been. And do you think that she would ever want you now? She's mine, Marshall. And there is nothing you can do about it."

Marshall's jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened. He lunged against his restraints, but Jason was too quick. He kicked at the bruised and broken ribs hard, and Marshall cried out in pain.

"She is mine, Marshall! Mine!" He kicked again, his steel toed boots cracking audibly against his ribs.

"I'm going to kill you, you bastard!" Mary screamed, pulling against her ropes, ignoring the fire she felt in her wrists where they were cutting in, hardly noticing the ache in her shoulders as she struggled. "You are dead, do you hear me? Dead!"

"You can try all you like, Marshall, but there is no hope for you. I have Mary, and she will be mine. She will see that she loves me. You will hear her say it, and you will know that you are nothing." He hissed the last word, and Marshall, unable to move, could only close his eyes once more, and turn his head away.

Jason grinned and looked over at Mary in delight.

"I hate you," she spat, feeling her stomach clench at his leer. "I am going to kill you, Jason, and I am going to enjoy it."

He appeared unconcerned by her threat. "All of that passion, Mary, just directed in the wrong ways. I look forward to seeing how that will play out when we've channeled it properly." He stepped away from Marshall, unhooked the handcuffs from their latch on the beam, and watched as Marshall slumped to the ground. "I will see the two of you later, and we will talk again." He swept gleefully from the room, and left them in silence.

Mary looked over to Marshall, who lay unmoving once more on the ground. His eyes were closed and he faced the ceiling, his face a mask of pain.

"I'm sorry, Marshall," she whispered, wishing she could be by his side to comfort him, to reassure him that everything would work out, wishing she knew it would. "I am so sorry."

* * *

**Anybody else feel emotionally exhausted now? No? Just me? Oh, all right, fine. Anyone else ready to shoot Jason in the face with a bazooka? Yeahhhhhh, that's what I thought. Reviews are like cookies...the more you get, the happier you are! So please give me some. Reviews, I mean. Unless you WANT to give me cookies, in which case, I accept.**


	9. Chapter 9

We're getting down to the wire, here! Marshall can't take much more and Mary's gonna kill something! There's a few more chapters, and then it's over, so keep reading! And plaese ignore my unrealisitic bits. It's called fiction for a reason, right? Right.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine but ideas. And boy do I have those.

* * *

"Detective, I don't know what to tell you," Danny said with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Jason was a good kid. Quiet, minded his own business, but focused. He mentioned I might be seeing him soon, but I didn't think anything of it. Figured if he was in town, he'd call me."

Stan and Bobby shared a look. "What can you tell me about his relationship with Mary?" Stan asked, leaning forward.

Danny shrugged. "He really looked up to her. I think she was the one person here he really connected with."

"Besides you," Bobby offered.

"Well, to be honest, I was surprised he wrote me. I looked out for him, but it's not like we did things outside of work. Sounded like the kid didn't have much of a father figure. I like to think I helped there." He looked back and forth at both of them. "Do you think I helped?"

"Yeah, Danny, I think you did." Bobby nodded at him, then left the room, Stan right behind him.

"Okay, so maybe he got over Mary?" Bobby offered once they were out of earshot.

Stan looked unconvinced. "Marshall didn't think so. I could tell from the moment we found out Jason was missing that he suspected something."

"But he didn't tell you what?"

He shook his head. "There wasn't anything to go on at the time, and he was taken before we worked out any details." Stan sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "This is feeling less and less like a kidnapping and more like a runaway."

"Okay, back to your building? More letters?"

Stan nodded. "I don't think we have anything better to go on at this point. We need to figure out just what Jason was into. It's our only shot."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Marshall," Mary said again, watching him.

"Stop apologizing, Mary," he rasped, his eyes still closed. "It's my fault."

She snorted softly and shook her head. "How exactly do you figure that, genius?"

"I knew Jason would be coming for you. I knew he hadn't been kidnapped. I should never have let you leave by yourself, no matter how upset we both were." He swallowed harshly and took a breath, albeit weak and gasping. "I should have protected you, it's my fault."

"Okay, you need to seriously stop, Marshall," Mary ordered, stomping a foot. "One, you shouldn't talk so much if it hurts, so don't. Two, don't be an idiot. You were right to send me home, I was way out of line. I apologized to Stan and Sara, and I was waiting to tell you how sorry I was. I am sorry, Marshall. I know I hurt you, and I promise you'll never see that again. Ever."

He started to take a breath, but she overrode him.

"No you don't, my turn. Three, how were you supposed to know that Jason was here for me? You couldn't know that for sure, so shut up about that. Four…"

"How many of these are there?" Marshall asked, looking at her finally.

She smiled tentatively at the show of spirit. "Some. Stop talking. Four, you were taken first, not me, so it should have been _me_ protecting _you_. I almost went over to your house, you know that? I talked myself out of it because I didn't think I could face you if you didn't want to talk to me. I could have been there with you. I'd been calling you all night, but you didn't respond. I thought you were still pissed."

"See? My fault. I…wasn't mad…anymore…" he managed before he started coughing.

"Shut up, Marshall!" she begged, her voice laced with worry. "I'm not done, and you need to rest. I know you always pick up when I call you, even when you're mad at me, so don't tell me. I know. Now, what number was I on? Oh, right, five…"

Marshall smiled softly, turning back to watch her.

"Five, I'm the one Jason is after. He's using you because of me. He's here because of me. He is _hurting_ you because of me." Her voice broke a little and she saw the flash of concern on his pained face. She shook her head and cleared her throat. "This is obviously all my fault. If he wasn't so psychotic, if he didn't think I could love him back, if he didn't think he was in love with me, then this…then I…you…" She couldn't finish and looked away.

"Hey," Marshall rasped, somehow managing to sound gentle through the wheezing.

She turned back to him, biting her lip.

He smiled softly. "You are blaming yourself for all of this because a man fell in love with you? That's not a crime, Mare, it's a force of nature. One I fell victim to a long time ago."

Her mouth dropped open at his words and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. Was he really saying that he…he _loved_ her?

"Jason was right?" she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.

He closed his eyes and nodded once. "About everything."

"No," she insisted, shaking her head. "No, Marshall, no. Stop it."

He moved his head and faced the opposite wall. "I'm a coward. I did fail you. I couldn't protect you, and now you're here and who knows what he's going to do, and I can't do anything about it."

"Shut up, Marshall!" she yelled, making him flinch. A sound was heard from above them, and they both stilled, looking up. When nothing happened, they relaxed.

"Don't you _ever_ say anything like that again, do you hear me?" Mary hissed. "Look at me!"

He slowly turned his head towards her. His eyes were defeated, weary, and she hated it. Those eyes made her furious.

"You are my little annoying optimist, okay? I'm the negative one, not you. If I ever hear you say anything like that again, I will pound you to a bloody pulp. _After_ we get you fixed up."

"I just can't forgive myself for you getting abducted while looking for me. You should have just left me alone, Mary. Everyone would have been better off." His voice was low, and not just from his damaged ribs.

Mary looked at him for a moment, wondering if he really didn't know what he meant to her, if he honestly thought she would be better without him. She sighed, and decided now was the time for brutal honesty. "I would never have stopped looking, Marshall. I would have hunted the rest of my life for you or whoever took you. I would not stop until I found you or killed them or both. Preferably both. You are my partner, Marshall, and my best friend. And no one is ever going to take you away from me. Ever. Not even you." She cleared her throat, which had suddenly become clogged. "So stop trying to, okay?"

A light appeared in his eyes and he swallowed again. "Okay."

She nodded in satisfaction. "Now, about the other thing…"

Marshall sighed as best as he could, but said nothing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

"When? When you were with Raph? When you were shot? When you ran off to Mexico with Faber?"

She winced. "You promised to never bring that up."

"Sorry. I tried, Mary, but you weren't ready. I've been trying to show you, but I didn't want to scare you off. Can you honestly say that my telling you straight out that I loved you would have gone over well?" He coughed, grimacing as he did so, then smiled gently at her. "I was more scared of telling you than I have ever been of you."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, feeling her heart rise up to her throat.

"You know now," he said, as if that settled things. "And I didn't even have to say anything."

But things were so not settled for her. He really was satisfied with that, wasn't waiting for an answer from her. It was so Marshall, willing to give everything and not expecting anything in return.

Noises from overhead told her that Jason was coming back. She had to think quickly, try to figure out what to do next. Marshall couldn't take much more, and there was no way in hell that she would let Jason touch him again if she could help it.

* * *

"Lots of talk about this girl," Bobby commented absently as he put down another letter. "He's pretty hooked."

"I'm getting that too," Sara said without looking up. "He wants her badly, but says he isn't good enough, he's scared of what stands in his way."

"You know what? Most of the content in here deals with the girl. How he thinks about her all the time, how he has this plan for making her fall in love with him… Let's see if we can figure out who she is." Bobby looked up at Stan, who nodded.

"He never went on any dates, as far as we could tell," Sara brought up. "He stayed in his house every night after work, never went out late."

"You know this how?" Stan asked, coming over and taking a seat.

"Donaldson was concerned about his apparent lack of social activity, and so every now and then he'd have someone watch the house, just to see what would happen. Nothing did. Never did anything with his coworkers, didn't belong to any clubs or groups, nothing. All he did was work, go to the gym, and random little errands."

"So who was the girl then?"

All of them went over the letters again, and then suddenly, Stan groaned. "Oh my God…"

"What?" the others asked in unison.

"It's Mary."

Their blank looks only agitated him.

"The girl, the one he's in love with, the one he has been doing all of this for. It's Mary. He's still in love with her, he's still obsessed with her. This creep wasn't kidnapped at all."

"He's coming for Mary," Sara breathed.

"No, he _has_ Mary," Eleanor corrected softly.

"Which means..."

"Which means he also has Marshall," Stan finished, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

Bobby swore under his breath. "And how did he get along with Marshall?"

"About as well as Israel and Pakistan."

This time it was Sara who swore and she picked up her phone. "Darren, we've got a major situation."

"How can we be sure about this?" Bobby asked as they scrambled to go over all of the information with this in mind. "Can we be sure about this?"

"No, we cannot be sure about this," Stan said, rising out of his chair and pacing slightly. "But Jason was fixated on Mary enough that Marshall moved him out. That's not going to go away quickly. And it's the best lead we have right now."

"So he comes for Mary, and takes Marshall as well? Why would he do that?"

"Because Marshall would find Mary. Marshall would suspect him, and find Mary. Marshall would never stop looking," Eleanor answered, rapidly typing away.

"True enough." Bobby picked up the nearest letter and scanned it hurriedly. "I don't think that was all, though."

"What are you thinking?" Stan asked, coming over to read over his shoulder.

"Well, here he talks about this other guy being in the way, and he says he needs to deal with him. And here," he picked up another and pointed, "he says that he knows he is better, if only he can prove it."

"So if Mary is the girl…"

"That means Marshall is this other guy."

"How is he going to prove he is better than Marshall?"

Sara looked at her phone and swore vibrantly, making the other three stare at her in shock. She met their gazes and swallowed. "Darren sent me a picture of Jason's most recent sparring partner. His trainer said all of the men looked roughly the same, that Jason was very specific about it, which was strange, but as Jason was a promising student, he went along with it." She turned the phone around and three mouths were suddenly gaping open.

It could have been a picture of Marshall's brother.

"He's going to kill him," Stan said softly, staring at the picture in horror. "He has been training for four years to physically take down Marshall. This isn't just some blind obsessive kidnapping of Mary; he has a vendetta against Marshall."

"And that's not all," Sara sighed as she put her phone down. "Seattle PD just found a drug dealer who swears a guy looking like Jason paid him three weeks ago for as many roofies as he had on him. Paid him a full two grand for 10 pills."

Bobby whistled and looked up at Stan. "This thing just got a whole lot scarier." His phone buzzed and he answered, waited a moment, then snapped and everyone looked to him. "We've got a body."

"No offense, Detective, but unless it's one of our three people, why do I care?" Sara asked with no small amount of irritation.

"Because the ID on the body has it as Inspector Clayton Parks."

Sara shot from her seat. "Clayton? But he's one of ours!"

"What the hell is he doing in Albuquerque?" Stan barked, turning to her.

"I don't know! I came by myself!" She swore and dialed Darren again. "Darren, why the hell was Clayton Parks just found dead in Albuquerque? …I don't know, but someone was covering for Jason and now we've got a dead inspector in the same city as our missing witness…No, I don't have proof other than a pile of letters, two missing inspectors, and a dead one! You want something more than that? ….No, run everything, run it now! Yes, while I'm waiting!" She shot a half-panicked, half-irritated glance at the others.

"Awww, damn!" Bobby yelled reading another letter.

"Now what?"

"Jason told Danny he'd just reconnected with one of his foster brothers, who lives in Seattle, and he was going to help him out."

Stan swore and seized the letter. "When was this written?"

"Three months into his stay."

"Sara-"

"Darren! Was Parks in foster care as a kid? Get Rita to run that!"

For almost a full minute, there was silence as they waited for answers. Stan paced around rubbing his face, Eleanor had her eyes fixed on Sara like a hawk, Bobby leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, and Sara bit one fingernail anxiously. Finally, she closed her eyes.

Stan swore and Eleanor commenced her typing and picked up her own phone. Bobby dialed his department again for more details.

"Parks was in a foster home from April of '93 to January of '94, which was when his mom regained custody and he left," Sara reported.

Eleanor nodded, and typed it in.

"Single GSW to the head, the gun was not on him or anywhere around the body," Bobby said, again earning a nod.

"I bet you anything Jason has it," Stan muttered. "Great. We have an armed psychopath with an obsession for one inspector and a vendetta on the other, and both are in his custody. I gotta call the FBI and tell them what we found. You're right, Bobby: this thing just got a whole _hell_ of a lot scarier."

* * *

**I know, I know, you all guessed that earlier, but hey, I had to string SOMEONE along, it might as well be the characters. So anyway, keep reading, keep reviewing, and wait for the goodness to unfold! =)**


	10. Chapter 10

We're getting into the good stuff, kids! No, really, we are. This chapter has been in my head since before I wrote chapter 1! As soon as I had the idea, I had this chapter. So I hope you like it! If you don't...well, that's your thing. Anyway, enjoy! Or not. Your choice.

**DISCLAIMER:** Wish I did. Don't.

* * *

"Time to play again, Marshall!" Jason called from the stairs in a sing-song voice. "And it's a brand new game, too."

The smell of cigar smoke met Mary's nostrils, and she watched Jason warily as he came closer. He put down an ash tray with a lit cigar sitting in it, and hoisted Marshall up to the hook on the beam again. Mary was surprised by how easily he could do that. The Jason she had known was tiny, reminded her of a toothpick with hair. But this Jason was strong. He'd added at least forty pounds of muscle onto his lean frame.

And something vicious was driving him, some psychotic need to bring Marshall down from whatever heights Jason imagined him having. Domination was what he was after, and Mary wondered just how far he would take things to get it.

"I had this very interesting idea while I was watching the history channel," Jason chatted conversationally as he circled Marshall once more, checking the setup. "Oh, sorry, does that hurt?" he asked, catching Marshall's quick intake of breath as he fidgeted with the handcuffs. "Anyway, I thought this might be fun to try. Let me know how this feels, Marshall, I'm really curious."

Mary shifted uncomfortably as Jason moved for the ashtray. Something needed to change here, something needed to sway the control of power. He was too confident, too sure, but how could she change that? What could she do to keep whatever was happening from happening?

Suddenly, Jason took the cigar from the ashtray and pressed the glowing end to the exposed skin of Marshall's chest. Mary's gasp of both shock and horror coincided with Marshall's agonized cry through clenched teeth. The smell of burnt flesh began to pervade her nostrils and she thought she might be sick. She closed her eyes and winced as she heard Marshall again, heard the sizzle of burning cigar against bare skin, could almost feel it in her own chest. She swallowed down the bile that rose within her.

_Think of something, think of something, _her brain frantically cried. _Distract him!_

"Jason," she started, her voice more pained than she expected it to be.

"Hmm?"

"Jason, please," she begged softly, opening her eyes and looking at him. She had no idea where this was going to go, how it would play out, but she had to try.

He turned to look at her, interest flaring in his eyes even as he held a lighter to the cigar tip again. "Please what, Mary? What do you want?"

"Please stop hurting him." The words just sort of tumbled out and she was shocked by them. _Please stop hurting him_? Was that really the best she could do? That was pathetic!

Jason smiled at her with pity. "I'm afraid I can't do that, my love. Until you see what your partner really is, I'm going to have to hurt him, don't you see? But your concern for him is admirable, I'll give you that." He turned back and pressed the burning cigar into Marshall's other side, and he smiled as Marshall groaned loudly at the contact.

"Please, Jason!" she tried once more, her voice slightly higher. "Please stop hurting him, hurt me instead!  
"Oh, now why would I want to hurt you, Mary? That's just silly."

An idea struck her and she seized it, knowing it was a risky move in many ways, but if it worked… "You are hurting me, Jason."

He stopped a moment, and looked at her curiously.

She nodded and moderated her tone, speaking calmly as if to a child. "You're hurting Marshall and that is hurting me. Marshall is my partner, Jason, which means I look out for him just like he tries to look out for me."

"I'm doing this for _you_, Mary," Jason said, a curious smile on his face, as if he thought she was being ridiculous. "You have to see. It's for your own good."

"No, it hurts me, Jason." Really, this patience thing was getting annoying. Patience was Marshall's thing, not hers, but for the time being, it was the best option she could think of. "Marshall is my best friend, and when he hurts, I hurt."

Marshall's breathing hitched slightly at her words, but she forced herself to focus on Jason. She could debate the meaning behind her choice of words with him later, never mind how true they actually were.

Jason's smile faded slightly, and he shook his head now. "I'm sorry, Mary, but I have to do this. You'll thank me later." He turned to Marshall. "You see what you've done, Marshall? You understand why I have to do this? No, of course, you don't. You only think of yourself, don't you?" He took the cigar once more and jabbed it hard against the skin of Marshall's left shoulder.

Marshall grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried to hold back his cry, but in so doing, he made the sound that he did emit much worse to Mary's ears, and finally, she couldn't hold it back any longer.

"I love him, Jason!" she cried, pulling against her ropes.

Both men silenced and stilled in a heartbeat. She saw Marshall swallow, saw how his chest heaved painfully with the breaths he took, and she ached for his aches. There wasn't much she could do for him in their current situation, but this was something. It was her strongest card to play, and there would be no turning back.

"What did you say?" Jason asked softly, turning only his head ever so slightly to look out her out of the corner of his eye.

"I love him," she said as clearly and as calmly as she could.

He straightened and his expression turned wary. "No, you don't…"

She nodded, swallowing back a multitude of emotions. "I do. I didn't tell him because I was scared, Jason. I was scared just like he was. But I love him, and if you love me, you won't hurt him any more."

His eyes took on a strange, almost demented light as he stared at her. "I love you. I do. Not him, me."

"Then don't hurt him, Jason. I love Marshall. He's my best friend, he makes me happy, he knows me better than I know myself, he sees the best in me, and I love him for all of that."

"Stop," Jason said loudly, his fists clenching. "You don't love him. You don't."

Mary knew what would come if she kept going, but quite frankly, she didn't care. It could save Marshall some pain and that would be worth it. "I do, Jason. I do, I love him, and—"

"You don't!" he bellowed as he dropped the cigar and ashtray and headed directly for her. He grabbed her left arm and yanked on it, pulling her partially off of the ground, and bringing her face close to his. His eyes were wild, like that of an animal, and Mary actually felt more than a little fear curl her stomach. "Take it back."

Somehow, she found the courage to shake her head. "I love him, Jason. Not you."

He screamed once more and then, in one motion, shoved backwards against her torso with one hand while twisting and lifting her arm with the other, using more force than Mary thought him capable of, and before she could blink, a loud pop was both felt and heard.

She gasped sharply at the sudden pain and cried out when Jason dropped her, sending her crashing back to the ground and the rough, wooden beam scraped sharply along her back.

"I'm sorry, Mary," Jason said softly through his teeth, his breathing uneven. "I don't want to hurt you, but until you learn..." He twisted around in agitation, pacing slightly, then moved to Marshall and grabbed his arms, throwing him to the ground as well. Jason turned back to Mary, his expression unreadable. "Think carefully while I am gone, Mary, about what you think you feel. I will make you see that I am right for you. And your partner here will suffer until you do."

He turned from the room and stormed up the stairs, slamming the door loudly.

For a long while, there was nothing but the labored breathing of them both. Mary closed her eyes and tried not to whimper as she adjusted herself to a more comfortable position, her dislocated shoulder hanging awkwardly against her. She focused on breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Who would have thought those ridiculous breathing exercises Shelley had made her do would ever come in handy for anything?

"Are you all right?" Marshall asked, concern heavy in his tired voice.

She grimaced as she tried to reset the bone, and could not. "Oh, yeah, I'm great. Nothing like having a bone out of place to make your day."

"Mare."

"I'll be fine, Marshall. I can take it."

"Why did you do that?" he inquired softly.

She opened her eyes and glanced over at him, and saw that he was watching her, had probably been watching her for a long time. She tried to shrug, but hissed sharply at the pain. "Seemed like a smart idea at the time," she gritted through her teeth, then attempted to laugh it off.

"Mary." His tone was scolding now, and she could tell that he was genuinely upset with her. "Why direct his anger towards you like that intentionally? He is not stable, he…" Marshall had to pause and cough weakly, then was back to glaring at her, "It is dangerous to provoke him so directly. As the object of his fixation, lying to him like that is—"

"Who said anything about lying?" Mary interrupted softly.

That shut him up. "Wh-what?" he finally managed, his breathing more raspy than before.

"I was not lying, Marshall." She said it slowly and very clearly, letting some amusement finally reach her eyes. She was suddenly very tired of the game she had been forcing him to play. What good would it be to pretend anymore? They might never get out of this basement, might never be able to have a real shot at a relationship, messy and crazy as it would be. He loved her, and she loved him. Why bother trying to hide it anymore?

He blinked, as if he couldn't comprehend what she was saying.

She rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. "Oh, for God's sake, do I need to spell it out for you?"

Slowly, very slowly, he shook his head. "So then…you…you really…"

She nodded, keeping eye contact, so that he would know just how serious she was, that she knew what he was asking but couldn't seem to get out.

He just stared at her then, apparently unable to say anything further. A small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of his mouth, and it was the only outward sign that told of his feelings. But Mary could read it; she knew just what that little hint of a smile meant, how much was really behind it.

"Are you going to say anything, or is this just going to get really awkward really fast?" she asked, faking irritation, but unable to resist grinning a little.

"How?" he asked quietly, his eyes soft. "When? Where? Why?"

She actually laughed out loud, despite her current state of pain. "Okay, Skippy, which one of those do you really want me to answer?"

He said nothing, just looked at her, his blue eyes sending odd warmth into her.

She sighed. "All of them, got it. Well, settle in for a story, it's a good one. Once upon a time, there was a girl named Mary and a marshal named Marshall…"

* * *

"Stan, Parks was on most of Jason's details," Sara reported from her improvised desk. "He filed all of the reports for Donaldson, offered to check up on him, stepped in whenever it was needed."

"Figures. He could doctor anything he wanted that way. And it would only appear he was being a good marshal. How are we on financials?" he asked, turning to Eleanor.

"He's got some funny stuff," she replied, her brow furrowed. "Charges to a chemical company, withdrawals of a few hundred every month, and it looks like he was paying for the private sparring lessons. Expensive stuff."

"So Parks was covering Jason's less-than-reputable activities. Wonderful." He rubbed his forehead with a hand. "Got anything, Bobby?"

"Running down the rental car in Parks' name. Got an APB out, haven't heard anything yet. We've got pictures of Parks and Jason out and the tip line is set with the feds running it."

Stan smiled faintly. "I bet they love that." He went into his office and sank into the chair behind his desk.

Traditionally, the FBI was not pleased with the smaller tasks, such as running a tip line. They preferred running shows, shoving aside smaller agencies, no matter how efficient they might have been, or how personal the case. In fact, Agent Raymond had called him a few hours ago to try to take charge, but it didn't take very long for Stan to…_convince_ him that hell would freeze over before he would be removed from running this investigation.

Since then, the FBI had been very helpful, and Stan found himself oddly grateful for them.

"APB came back on Parks' rental!" Bobby called, and Stan jumped up from his desk.

"Where?"

"Empty parking lot over on the east side. Wanna go?"

"Absolutely." He looked over at Sara, who was sitting up straighter, watching him carefully. He waved her over, and she followed them out of the office.

The drive over was silent, whether from exhaustion, frustration, or worry, none of them knew. But the 48 hour mark was fast approaching, and no one needed to remind them of the statistics.

They found the FBI and ABQPD already at work processing the car when they arrived. The small Chevy Impala had no less than four people partially inside it, and another four around the outside.

"What do you got?" Bobby asked the young officer nearest him as they got out.

"No cameras, so no idea how long it's been here," the officer reported. "Rental agreement said the car was picked up a week ago. We're processing the car at the moment, but it may take a while."

"Why's that?" Sara asked, looking over at it.

"It's a mess. Papers, maps, envelopes, food wrappers, you name it, we've found it. You're more than welcome to go on over and check things out."

Stan and Sara headed over to the car in question while Bobby continued to question his officers.

"Have you found anything?" Sara asked them as soon they got there.

"Well, that would depend on what you want, wouldn't it?" came an impatient, irritated snap from a man inside.

Stan sighed, trying to keep his cool. "Anything of use?"

"Well, that would all depend on what you consider of use, wouldn't it?" the man said, turning to give Stan a look. "Do you want to know what he ate? McDonalds. Do you want to know what he was reading? Sports Illustrated. Do you want to know what the maps are of? Albuquerque. That's the extent of our investigation at this point, Inspector, and if you keep asking, it will take longer."

There was a second of complete silence, in which no one but that officer moved. Then Stan reached out and seized his foot, pulling him out of the car, then shoved him up against it. "Listen here, bub. I have two of my best marshals being held captive by a psychotic ex-witness who wants nothing more than to kill one of them and keep the other. I don't know where they are or if they are alive or dead. I have been up for almost 48 hours looking for them, and I'll be damned if I'll be spoken to that way by a punk like you. You either tell me what I want to know or you shut the hell up and keep looking, got it?"

"Got it," the man said softly, his eyes more than a touch terrified. He ducked back inside the car and didn't say another word.

"I've got something!" one of the officers in the back called.

"What is it?" Stan and Sara asked together, echoed by Bobby who was on his way over.

She handed it to Stan, who looked it over. "It's a lease agreement."

"A _what_?" Bobby and Sara asked

"A lease rental agreement. They rented a house here."

Bobby peered over his shoulder. "We got an address?"

"No, but there's a number of the landlord. Sara?"

"All over it."

Stan looked up at Bobby, grinning. "Now we're talking!"

* * *

**Whew! Kind of intense, eh? And how about Mary stepping up to the plate with Marshall? Sorry about the torture...that's gonna stop soon, I promise. Reviews make our little fiction world go 'round, so review and see what tomorrow brings! Or the next day... =)**


	11. Chapter 11

Still there, people? Good...all three of you. Oh well. This chapter is one loooooong scene that, again, was in my head from the beginning, so it's pretty important to me. Hope I got it right for y'all! The end is coming!

**DISCLAIMER:** IPS belongs to people much smarter, more creative, and richer than me. Sounds like my high school experience.

* * *

"Mary," Marshall said quietly, groggily, as if he were somewhere between asleep and awake.

"What?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as pained or worried as she thought she did.

"If I don't make it…"

"Shut up, Marshall," she interrupted sharply, wincing as her jerking forward had sent pain up her dislocated shoulder.

He looked at her, his eyes serious and sad.

She shook her head at him. "No. I refuse to even think about it. You can pretend all you want over there, but I'm not taking any messages to your mother, or telling Stan that you secretly loved your impromptu mambo lesson in the office, or staking any claims to the contents of your desk drawer, all right? If you die, it'll be on my say-so and not a second before, got it?"

He smiled weakly. "Got it."

They heard noises from upstairs, headed for the door to the basement.

"Great. More fun with Jason the Loon," Mary muttered, twisting her wrists against the ropes. If she could keep working them just a little more, then maybe…

"Do whatever you need to, Mary," Marshall wheezed, shifting his weight. "Get yourself out of here, don't provoke him anymore, I can take it for as long as I have to."

She rolled her eyes. "Please, Marshall, you couldn't push over a dandelion right now. You aren't tied to anything and you still can't move. Stop trying to be all noble, and shut up and let me think. I'm gonna figure out a way to get us both out of here soon."

"You should be nice to the invalid," he suggested, coughing weakly.

She snorted softly. "What, you think that just because I love you, I'm gonna be nice? Good luck with that, pal."

He grinned, albeit briefly.

They heard the door open, and Jason was soon upon them.

"I have decided," he began as he came down the last two steps, "that things are going to have to change." He looked at Marshall with disgust, and picked him up, propping him against the beam. "I took this from a friend of mine who…well, he won't have any use for it anymore." He pulled from the back of his jeans a gun, a Glock .38 from the look of it, standard law enforcement issue, and pointed it at Marshall.

Mary swallowed back a lurch of fear as her mind raced to come up with a way out of this.

"I don't want to kill you, Marshall," Jason said softly, the gun pointed directly at Marshall's forehead. "But I will if things don't go according to plan."

"What good will shooting me in the head do?" Marshall asked quietly, the wheezing even more pronounced than before.

"In the head?" Jason laughed maniacally. "Don't be silly, that's much too quick. I'm going to shoot you in the shoulder. Or the thigh, maybe. Some place not too important, but where there will be a lot of blood. You see, Marshall, I am much more excited about seeing you bleed out than about this method of execution you expect. A gunshot wound to the head is so boring. It's not nearly as fun as watching someone writhe."

Something about his tone alerted Mary to the fact that he had probably killed whomever he had stolen the gun from execution style. One shot to the head. Clean and quick. Which meant that Jason was determined to do whatever it took to get what he wanted, to make sure his plan went exactly as he designed it.

His plan, what he wanted, was her.

Suddenly, a light went on in her head. She knew what she could do, but it would be risky, and she would have to make it count.

"So, let us begin with your left shoulder, shall we, Marshall? I don't think you'll last long."

Marshall knew he wouldn't. He looked over to Mary, who was fidgeting with her ropes again, her eyes fixed on the two of them. He smiled faintly, and mouthed "I love you". She stilled, her eyes warning him off, a flash of anger flaring. How Mary of her. He looked back to Jason, ready to accept his fate. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rough wood, almost able to feel Jason's anticipation in the air around them.

"Jason, wait."

Mary's voice cut through the brief silence, slicing the tension instantly.

"What?" Jason's response was quick and hard, and Marshall feared that even Mary wouldn't be able to stop what was coming. Jason was beyond angry, and a new sort of vindictiveness was approaching, one that she might not be spared from.

He heard Mary sigh heavily, as if defeated. It was a sound that was not in Mary's gamut, and it confused him. "You're right, Jason."

Marshall's eyes snapped open and immediately flicked to her. She appeared to be suffering some great internal struggle as she watched Jason, her expression somewhere between acceptance and defeat.

"Right?" Jason asked, confused as he looked at her, the gun now pointing downward.

"About everything," Mary said, forcing herself to sound choked up, and even managed to squeeze out a tear or two. "I should have seen it, I should have known…"

Marshall stirred uneasily. Surely she wouldn't…

"Mary?" Jason's voice sounded very young, very innocent, very hopeful.

"It was you all along, Jason," she said softly, looking up at him, ignoring Marshall's piercing gaze. "I'm sorry I didn't realize it, that it took all this time…"

"It's fine, Mary, I understand," Jason said softly coming over to her, still looking unconvinced. "You were blinded by your duty to your partner, by his cruel attempts to separate us, his determination to have you himself. But you are free now."

She nodded, closing her eyes as if in relief. "I want to be with you, Jason. I don't want us to be apart any more."

"Mary…" Marshall warned loudly.  
"Shut up, Marshall!" she bellowed, looking at him, glaring fiercely. "You just shut up, you've done enough! You've ruined everything! I hate you!"

Jason grinned gleefully. Apparently, he believed her at last. "Yes, he is to blame. It's _his_ fault we've been apart. But that doesn't matter anymore, Mary." He reached out to touch her cheek and it took everything that Mary had not to flinch.

"My shoulder hurts, Jason," she whispered, looking at him pleadingly.

"I know, pet. I'm so sorry, but you know why I had to, don't you?"

She nodded obediently.

"As soon as I take care of Marshall, we can get that fixed, ok?" He turned back to Marshall, his grin turning triumphant. "You see, Marshall? She does love me! You have lost, and I have won! This is how it should be, how it was always meant to be. And now you are left with nothing."

Marshall looked appropriately crushed, but that was probably due to the fact that he had no energy left and was completely clueless as to what Mary had planned.

"I guess that now there is nothing left to do but finish you." He sighed, an almost sad song. "It's too bad, really. I have enjoyed bringing you down to size. Oh well."

"Jason?" Mary asked, her voice so sickeningly sweet it made her want to shoot herself.

"Yes, my love?" he asked, turning to smile at her.

She bit her lip, as if thinking deeply. "What if we don't kill him?"

Jason frowned uncertainly, and Marshall gave her a look, which she intentionally ignored.

"What if…what if you just dump him somewhere and let the rest of the marshals hunt for him? He knows he's lost, he knows I want to be with you, he knows you are so much better than he is, so what else is there for him? And look at him, Jason. He's such a weakling, he's half-dead already." She started to put some excitement into her voice, hoping he would catch on to it. "Let's just leave him somewhere to die, then it can't come back to haunt us when he is found. I'm staying, Jason. I'll stay with you, so why bother with him anymore?"

Marshall was feeling more than a bit tossed about by the earnestness in Mary's voice, by her sudden apparent twist of conscience, but he was stunned to see how easily Jason was manipulated into believing her. There was a demonic light in his eye as he listened to Mary, as he considered her words and drank in her enthusiasm.

It was incredibly difficult to watch.

"But Mary, I could end him right now, and then it would all be over," Jason said, his voice low, but no less energized.

"I know, but then you could be in danger. It's not worth it, Jason. He is not worth it." Mary held Jason's eyes, determined not to let him look away or see any sort of doubt or uncertainty in hers. Thank God she had always been a good liar.

He pursed his lips, thinking deeply.

Mary held her breath. She didn't want to stay here with this psycho, especially since he was in love with her and now believed she returned his feelings, but if she could get Marshall out of here and to medical attention, then she would do whatever it took. He would make sure the cavalry was sent out after her, and it wouldn't take too long for them to find her as well.

She just hoped she would be able to hang on for however long that would be.

"I'll have to think about that, Mary," Jason murmured, touching her cheek. "It would be sweet, poetic justice for him to be left out there all alone in his condition, and at your request, but at the same time, to release him, knowing what he does…"

"He wouldn't come after us, Jason," Mary insisted, shifting closer to him, against every single instinct she had. "Why would he? He's lost, and he knows it. There is nothing here for him."

Jason sighed softly, then surged forward and kissed her hard.

Caught by surprise and unable to move, Mary had to take it, though she would much have preferred to kick the crap out of him _after_ rinsing her mouth out with an entire bottle of Listerine. Or maybe before.

He released her, finally, then stood up. "I'll consider it, Mary. After all, he was your partner and had saved your life. I must be grateful for that, I suppose. I'll be back soon."

He kicked Marshall on his way out, and he jogged lightly up the steps, as if the weight of the world had been suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

Mary waited thirty seconds, then began spitting everything she could out of her mouth. "Good God," she gasped, spitting, "that was the single most disgusting thing I have ever done in my life. You don't happen to have any bleach over there, do you?"

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Mary?" Marshall asked through his clenched teeth.

"Saving your scrawny butt, that's what." She spat again, choking on the aftertaste of Jason.

"What possessed you to tell Jason that you're in love with him?"

She looked over at Marshall, and sighed heavily. "I never said I was in love with him, Marshall. I told him a lot of things, but not that."

Marshall was silent for a moment, watching her, waiting for her to explain.

"I had a hard enough time saying that to you, when it's true, when it counts, do you really think I could say it as a lie to this psycho?"

A small smile flicked across her partner's face. "So you don't think I'm nothing? You don't really hate me?"

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Of course, I hate you, doofus. How many times have I said _that_ before today? And as for the nothing comment…" She tried to shrug with her good shoulder. "You know that's a cartload of crap."

Marshall's smile faded and he groaned as he tried to edge closer, not managing more than a few inches before he had to stop. "Mary, I love you. I can't let you do this. Encouraging him in his obsession could very well be worse than enraging him."

"Shhh," Mary said, shaking her head. "I thought this through…okay, it was only for about thirty seconds, but still. This is our best shot to get you out of here, Marshall, so we're taking it."

He shook his head back at her. "No, no, no, no," he urged, his eyes pleading.

She set her jaw. "Look, I'm just now realizing how much I love you, okay? I refuse to let you die in this hellhole before I get to find out how good you are in bed, and if I have to hand this guy a cock-and-bull story about my undying affection to make that happen, then you'd better believe that's what I'll do."

He didn't smile at her attempt at distraction, but he did swallow hastily.

_God, I hope I get to get him in bed_, she thought. That would be a lot of fun.

"Mary, I can't," he whispered, his expression as pained as his voice. "I can't leave you here."

"You will, Marshall," she said softly, allowing herself to smile with the full force of her emotions towards him, and watched him struggle for breath in a way that had nothing to do with his ribs. "You will because you have to, because I need you to, because I can save you for once. You get out of here, Marshall. I'll be all right, he won't hurt me. Not badly, anyway," she amended as Marshall's gaze flicked to her shoulder. "You get out of here, find Stan and Bobby, tell them everything, then come find me." She swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat. "Find me and kill him."

Marshall held her gaze for a long time, saying everything he couldn't seem to voice, then nodded once. "Okay."

She nodded, sniffing back a few tears. "Okay, we've got a few minutes, so I'm gonna keep working at these ropes and you…just keep laying there." She waited a heartbeat, and then, "Good job, you're a natural."

Marshall sneered as best as he could, then sobered. "You gonna be able to get out of them?"

"I think so, it's just a matter of how soon. And how much blood it takes to make the rope slick."

Marshall winced. "That bad?"

"Feels like it, but hey, it's no baseball bat to the ribs, right?" She tossed him a playful grin.

"Probably not. If we get out of here, we're going to have some truly remarkable battle scars, Mare."

"When, Marshall," she corrected, her playfulness evaporating as she caught his eye. "Not if. When."

* * *

**SORRY! I know it was a crazy chapter, but Mary needed to save Marshall's butt! Or shoulder, I guess... Anyway, as I said, the end is coming, so REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Thanks, kids. =)**


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the long delay, kids. I was in a Thanksgiving coma and did not function for three days. But I'm back now and we're nearing the end, so I'll shut up!

**Disclaimer:** The idea is mine. The characters, not so much.

* * *

"I understand your desire to protect your tenants, Mrs. Kline," Stan said, trying to maintain his calm, "but one of the men who signed the lease is dead, and the other is holding two federal officers hostage."

The rotund woman folded her beefy arms and deepened her frown, which only served to accentuate her wrinkled folds. "Can you prove it? I'll not be disturbing my tenants with these accusations unless you have evidence of it."

"And just what sort of evidence are you hoping we'll have, Mrs. Kline?" Sara asked, her frustration rising fast. "A signed confession? Or maybe just more dead officers?"

The woman shrugged. "A warrant would be a good place to start. This is not my first rodeo, you know, I rent to all sorts of people _and_ I watch Law and Order."

Sara leaned over the desk, placing her hands wide on the top. "So help me, if those officers die, I will hold you personally responsible and bring down a hell you've never even dreamed of."

Mrs. Kline didn't even blink. "Honey, you can threaten all you like, but after my second husband, anything you can think up would be a vacation."

Just then, Bobby ran into the office, slightly out of breath. "Got it," he said, waving the warrant.

Stan took it from him and handed it to Mrs. Kline, a triumphant expression on his face.

"There, was that so hard?" she asked, opening the drawer behind her and pulling out a file. She handed it to Stan, who immediately turned and headed out the door, Sara and Bobby right behind him. "Any damages I will hold you responsible for!" she called after them.

"Bobby, can you arrest her?" Sara muttered as they approached the cars.

"What for?"

"I dunno, irritating a Federal Officer."

He snorted. "Sure, yeah, lemme get on that."

"Got an address," Stan announced as he looked over the lease agreement. "1547 Glennview. Signed the agreement two weeks ago."

"I'll call it in," Bobby said, running for his cruiser. He opened the door and reached for his radio. "Dispatch, this is Derschowitz. Send all available units to 1547 Glennview, suspected murderer may be holding two US marshals hostage. Hold for my signal, send Emergency response as well. Be advised, suspect is armed and dangerous." He nodded to Stan and Sara as he closed the door. "See you there."

"You got it." They got into their SUV and followed as his cruiser sped away, lights on both blaring.

Stan gripped the steering wheel tightly. Finally, they would get his marshals back, assuming they were at the house at all. They had to be there; there weren't any other clues, and Marshall, at least, was running out of time.

* * *

"Marshall," Mary whispered, hearing the footsteps returning up above her. "Marshall, I think I've almost got it!"

He lifted his head. "The ropes?"

She nodded. "Just a bit more, and I'll have it. Can you stand?"

He winced. "If I have to."

"Pretty sure you will at some point, bud. Follow my lead okay?"

"Don't I always?" He smiled affectionately, then put his head back down and closed his eyes.

The door above them opened and they heard Jason's footsteps on the stairs. "Mary, I've thought about your suggestion."

"Yeah?" She forced her voice to sound light, unconcerned, even as she continued to work at the ropes, her wrists nearly numb from the pain and burning now.

"Mmhmm. And I think you're right."

She let out a slow, quiet breath. "If you think that's best," she said carefully.

"You were right, sweetie," Jason said as he came into view, his eyes immediately on her. "We have no more use for him, so why dirty our hands any further with him? I do have one condition, though." He slowly removed the gun from his back and set it on the table, watching her.

"Oh?" Something about his tone, his expression, made her even more uneasy. Out of her peripheral vision, she that Marshall had gone still as well.

"Yes. I think there is one more thing that Marshall here needs to endure before we cut him loose."

She swallowed, twisting her hands as much as she could without him seeing. "What's that?"

"I think that Marshall here needs to witness a sign of our mutual love to prove that he truly has lost everything. We need to show him what he will be missing. You need to give yourself to me, Mary, mind, sprit…and body. That will be the cruelest torture of all."

Mary couldn't breathe. She twisted her wrists harder, faster, her head swimming. He was going to… She'd have to… No, no, this game was over.

"Jason…" she tried, her voice trembling.

"Don't worry, Mary," he said with a smile, as if she amused him. "I'll be gentle with you. You don't have anything to worry about. It will be…magical." He started towards her, his pale eyes raking over her hungrily.

"No!" Mary frantically worked at her bindings, felt them give a little, but not all the way.

"It's all right, Angel," he soothed as he approached. "You'll love it, I promise."

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, Marshall surged up with a barbaric cry. He looped his bound hands around Jason's neck and jammed both of his thumbs into a spot at the back of Jason's jaw on one side. Jason, caught off guard, thrashed in Marshall's hold, his eyes going wide. Marshall grunted and groaned with the exertion of maintaining the pressure, but he did not release it. Jason reached behind him, trying to grab Marshall's head, but Marshall dodged his attempts. Jason drove his elbow into Marshall's damaged ribs, and Marshall cried out at it, but didn't release him.

Mary could see Jason's eyes glazing over, but knew Marshall couldn't hold on to the pressure point much longer. She hastily worked at the ropes, and felt them give just enough for her to slip her hands out. She scrambled for the gun on the table, and seized it.

"Marshall!" she yelled, raising the gun.

Instantly, he released Jason and dropped to the ground on his good side, shutting his eyes tightly.

_Bam_! _Bam_! _Bam_! _Bam_!

Jason stared at her in confusion as the blood from the four rounds began to darken his shirt. He sank to his knees, hands feeling the blood, and then collapsed over backwards and was still.

Shaking, Mary dropped the gun and gripped her injured shoulder. She looked over at Marshall, who had gone very pale. She crawled over to him, tucking her bad arm against her.

He opened his eyes at her approach, and tried to smile.

She reached for him with her good arm and pulled him in a tight embrace, or as tight as she could, given their injuries. His breathing was more ragged and hoarse than ever, and both of their hearts were racing.

But just for this moment, however brief, they held each other close, relieved to even be alive.

"C'mon," Mary said softly after a minute, brushing his hair back from his clammy skin. "Let's get out of here." She got to her feet carefully, then went around behind him and helped him up. He looped an arm around her shoulders, and she reached for his waist, careful to avoid gripping his ribs. Slowly, very slowly, they made their way up the stairs to the main part of the house.

Mary hardly noticed anything as she searched for the door, except for the fact that the place smelled awful, but was somehow obscenely clean. There was also hardly any furniture, which made maneuvering Marshall much easier. She could hear the sound of sirens, and sighed, closing her eyes. Help was at hand.

She opened the door and blinked against the light from the cars and ambulances in the street. The sun was setting, and there was a cool breeze, and she was greeted by the surprised shouts from Bobby, Sara, and Stan, who were already approaching the house, vests in place.

"Mary!" Stan cried, jogging towards them, Bobby hot on his heels.

"Careful, he's hurt pretty bad," she murmured, almost reluctantly allowing them to take Marshall's weight from her.

"So are you, it looks like," Bobby said, nodding at her arm, noticeably out of place.

She shook her head. "I'll be fine, help him."

"Mary," Marshall said weakly, his eyes rolling a bit.

She brushed his hair from his brow again and kissed his forehead softly. "Right here, Marshall. We're gonna get you some help now, okay?"

"You, too," he insisted as Stan and Bobby helped him over to the EMTs, who were running towards them.

Sara stood in by the gate in front of the house, her expression vacant, but exhausted. "Damn, you just couldn't give me a break, could you?" she said as Mary approached, smiling faintly.

"Sorry," Mary replied, even as her knees buckled slightly.

"Whoa, whoa," Sara cried softly, catching her and helping her up, supporting her with an arm around the waist. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

"Jason's in the basement," Mary said as Sara forced her to sit on the back of the ambulance while the EMTs looked her over, starting to care for the bleeding wounds on her wrists.

"Dead?"

She nodded. "Four rounds to the chest."

Sara gave a low whistle. "What happened?"

Mary looked over to the other ambulance where Marshall was being hooked to an IV and oxygen, his eyes somehow finding hers across the gap. She held his gaze as she softly answered. "Jason was going to rape me. Marshall stopped him. I got to the gun."

"Sounds like you've had a hell of a time," Stan commented.

She jumped, not knowing when he had gotten there. She swallowed and nodded once.

He reached out and touched her hair. "You did good, Mary. You did really good."

"Thanks, Stan. What do we know?"

He shook his head at her, then nodded to the EMTs, who stepped forward. "We'll go over all of that later. Right now, I want you to go to the hospital, get checked out, and rest. Everything else can wait."

She glanced over to Marshall, who was being loaded into his ambulance.

"He'll be okay, you know."

She nodded. "I know. He's Marshall. He's indestructible."

"That he is, Mary. That he is." Stan helped her step up into the ambulance, and it was a sign of how exhausted and in pain she was that she voluntarily laid down on the gurney and closed her eyes. The voices of Stan, Sara, and Bobby faded to the background, and she allowed herself to relax as much as she could.

She worried about Marshall. Because he was not indestructible. She had seen that in the basement over the past few hours. He had fought, and valiantly at that. But he had been weakened beyond anything she had ever seen. He had been injured, and just how badly they wouldn't know until the doctors checked him out, but she knew it was bad. He had been tortured for no other reason than because he was her partner, because he loved her.

She wasn't certain she would be able to live with that. She knew she couldn't if anything Marshall endured would be permanent, or would affect the rest of his life. Knowing that everything that had happened to him was her fault, regardless of what he said, made her feel more guilt than she had ever felt in her life. She loved him, that was truth; because of that, she wanted to do what was best for him.

After a day like today, and thinking back on their relationship and partnership over the years, she doubted that having her in his life was the best thing for Marshall. He lived to protect her, whether from herself or from outside threats. She had heard him say as much when he had tried to leave a few years ago, and she had told him it was his job, which he had accepted.

But now…

Now she didn't know. Now she knew she loved him, knew he loved her. Now she needed to stop being selfish, needed to think of someone else before herself.

He wouldn't like it.

Hell, _she_ wouldn't like it. She wanted nothing more than to be with Marshall forever, but he deserved someone who didn't make him work so hard, who didn't lead him into danger just by being, who treated him the way a man like him should be treated.

They arrived at the hospital and the EMTs insisted on putting her in a wheelchair as they took her up for an evaluation. She hadn't seen Marshall, which didn't surprise her, considering they had probably rushed him off to surgery, but she wished someone could update her, let her know what his status was.

It wasn't until much later in her room, after a very painful relocation of her shoulder and being hooked up to another damn IV _and_ finding out there was nothing on TV, that she saw anyone that knew anything. Stan and Eleanor had shown up together, which made her smile and wish Marshall was there so they could secretly laugh about it.

"How are you feeling, Mary?" Stan asked.

"Like I've been hit by a semi," she grumbled, leaning back against her pillow. "I hate hospitals."

"I know, but considering the dehydration and trauma you sustained, the doc says you should stay at least a day or two for observation," Stan said, taking a seat near her bed.

"What am I, an animal in the zoo?" she grumbled, adjusting the sling on her arm.

Eleanor made a noise that sounded like she was considering the idea. Mary glared at her. "Oh, c'mon, Eleanor, what's that supposed to mean? Spit it out, you know you want to."

"Oh, nothing, I just wish I had tranquilizer darts at work." She sighed with regret.

Mary rolled her eyes, enjoying the return to a state of almost-normalcy, but knowing she couldn't show it, or the whole thing would be ruined. "So do we know how Marshall is doing?"

Stan shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes. "He'll be fine."

"Stan."

He sighed. "He's coming out of surgery, and he's going to be in here for a while."

"His right lung was punctured by fragments of his ribs," Eleanor added, still standing by Mary's bed. "The breaks were pretty bad."

"And his burns were pretty nasty, too. He'll have some wicked scars."

Mary was silent through their report, staring off at nothing. How was she supposed to respond? Glad it wasn't worse? Grief that it was that bad? Her confusion and turmoil must have been evident, because Eleanor cleared her throat.

"Stan, would you mind stepping out for a moment? I need a word with Mary."

Mary's head shot up and she looked at Stan, who looked both shocked and worried. He stared at Eleanor, silently questioning, but he got up and left the room, glancing back at Mary apologetically.

"What do you want, Eleanor?" Mary sighed, shifting to get more comfortable. "Dating tips with Papa Smurf? Advice for riding that wave? I've never tapped that, it makes me nauseous to even think about it, so I really—"

"Mary, we need to talk."

* * *

**Oh, man, NOW what? They're safe! Jason's dead! It was so sudden, but hey, that's life. Will Mary REALLY leave? Reviews mean a lot to me, really! =)**


	13. Chapter 13

Wow...this is it, you guys. The final chapter. I apologize in advance for anyone who was hoping I'd venture into the M territory. I don't. I can't do that, and besides, you can imagine all you want behind those closed doors, right? Right. Anyway, it's been fun! Hope you've enjoyed it!

**DISCLAIMER: **IPS is someone else's brilliance, not mine.

* * *

"_Mary, we need to talk."_

The completely serious tone made Mary pause, her retorts coming to a screeching halt. Eleanor's expression was almost scolding; it was half irritated and half exasperated, with a tiny pinch of pity.

"Okay…." Mary replied slowly, wondering what in God's name she could have possibly done in the last few hours that would render this.

Eleanor said nothing at first. She just watched Mary carefully, as if she were looking for something in her face.

"Hey. 'We need to talk' implies that some talking needs to happen, so get on it," Mary snapped. She was hurting like there wasn't enough morphine in the world, she was seven levels of tired, and she wanted a doughnut; she was not in the mood for a speech from someone who had no idea what the last 36 hours had been like for Mary. Longer, even.

"I know you're thinking about leaving."

_SCREECH!_ Mary's brain literally slammed to a stop as if an 18-wheeler had suddenly blocked it. Her head actually ached from the impact. There was no way Eleanor could know that, there was absolutely no way…

"I can see it in your face that you are so swamped with guilt for what Marshall endured that you think the only solution is to leave. But I can promise you, Mary, that it won't do any good. I think it would kill him."

Mary stared at Eleanor, unable to respond in any form.

"Stan and I went to Marshall's room first. We were able to catch him before they took him into surgery. Stan started talking to the doctor, so I went over to Marshall. He was pretty out of it, but he grabbed my wrist and took the oxygen mask off of his face. He pulled me closer so he could whisper something to me."

"What was it?" Mary asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart aching.

Eleanor's gaze fixed intently on Mary's. "He said, 'Don't let Mary leave.' He said, 'She can't leave. I'd find her.'"

Mary took in a shuddering breath, tears instantly welling. Of course he knew. He knew her, knew her knee-jerk reaction to anything emotional, knew how she'd react. He knew. And he loved her anyway.

_"I would never have stopped looking… I would have hunted the rest of my life for you…"_ Her own words echoed in her mind, sending more tears rolling down her cheeks. If she felt that strongly about having him near her, why wouldn't he, who had loved her so much for so long, feel the same way? His concern was for her, even when he was in so much pain that she could hardly comprehend it. He thought of her.

"He loves you, Mary."

"I know," she whispered, wiping her eyes.

"You would be an idiot of unmatched stupidity to abandon him."

Mary nodded slowly. Yeah, she knew that. But stupid is as stupid does, after all. It didn't change the fact that he would be better off without her. He was the one who lifted up; she only brought down. What had she ever done for him? When had she ever treated him right?

"You love him, too, you know," Eleanor said softly.

"Yeah, I know. I even told him so."

"You did?" she asked, not even bothering to hide how the news shocked her.

"Yeah, made a big show of it down in that basement. Went over really well. You should have seen their faces." The sarcasm might have been biting, but right now, the fact that she loved him hurt. She shook her head, and shrugged her one good shoulder. "Doesn't change anything."

"It changes things, Mary. I know a little something about losing the ones you love," Eleanor said quietly, her voice shaking only slightly. "It hurts in places you never knew you had. It aches when you least expect it, and it goes on forever. It never leaves; it just fades to the background. But it is always there." She swallowed hard, then shook her head slightly. "Don't put him or yourself through that. Don't willingly lose what you have. Because once it's gone, there is no getting it back. And that hurts like hell."

Mary watched Eleanor in silence. They sparred with each other on a regular basis, but there was an underlying sense of camaraderie, something that was pretty near impossible to define, considering their constant state of bickering. But something about her manner now, the depth of her emotion, how much she cared about the relationship between her and Marshall…something about that struck Mary. Things would be different now.

"So are you going to be the coward and run or will you let Marshall be a glutton for punishment?" Eleanor asked, sniffing back a few tears.

Maybe not.

"Why is this any of your business, anyway?" Mary retorted tartly. "You've got your own relationship to piddle around with, stay out of mine."

"It's my business because Stan is my business, and you two are Stan's business," Eleanor huffed. Then she smiled faintly. "I don't want to deal with a Marshall who doesn't have a Mary, okay? I don't think the world does."

That sobered Mary up. Her doofus partner, the man she loved, the man who loved her…for some reason, he needed her. Or thought he did, anyway.

Realization struck Mary then, lightning fast and just as hard: they were the same in this one respect only. She would have suffered anything for him, would have taken his punishment for no other reason than to spare him. He had done the same for her, and she had no doubts that he wouldn't regret doing it, knowing it could save her. They were the same in this: they would literally take a bullet or worse for each other.

That must have been what all the fuss with love was about.

She just never thought it would be so true.

She looked over at Eleanor, who was still smiling. "Hey, Eleanor…" she started, swallowing back a hoard of emotions. "Wanna finally make yourself useful?"

Twenty minutes later, Mary was in a wheelchair again, her IV hanging on a stand and being wheeled along with her. Eleanor was very carefully pushing her around the hospital, looking for Marshall's room while at the same time trying to avoid any hospital personnel who might object to what they were about to do.

It was very stressful for them both.

"How can you not know where he is?" Mary snapped, gripping her IV stand tightly. "Seriously, he'll be discharged before we find the room."

"I don't memorize hospital layouts," came the irritated reply. "And for someone who is relying on me for mobility, you might want to shut up and be nice. Or just shut up. That _would_ be nice."

"I think you were my middle school principal in disguise," Mary muttered under her breath. "That or Attila the Hun."

"If I was, then God hates me now. Okay, here we are." She turned the wheelchair into the darkened room, the only sounds the machines that were hooked up to Marshall's vitals. Eleanor pushed Mary to the side of the bed, and both stared for a moment.

He looked terrible. His left eye was puffy and swollen, the gash under it held together with steri strips. His wrists were wrapped in gaze like hers. His face was pale and gaunt, and his entire body was stiff and still, most likely due to the extensive dressing she imagined he had under his hospital gown.

He looked so weak, so fragile, so un-Marshall-like that Mary was actually scared.

"He'll be fine, Mary," Eleanor assured her, touching her shoulder. "The doctors said everything went well and he just needs rest and recovery."

"So why did you agree to bring me up here, then?"

"No idea," Eleanor replied lightly. "See you tomorrow."

Mary kept her eyes on Marshall as Eleanor left the room, shutting the door softly behind her. She felt an unusually strong surge of affection towards him as he lay there. He wouldn't complain about any of this, and he would never let her think it was her fault. She had no doubt that his first question when he was coherent again would be about her. That was the beauty of this man before her. He was unfailingly good, generous to a fault, and had a never ending supply of good cheer that made Santa seem like the poster boy for depression.

She reached over and took Marshall's hand, laying them both on the blankets.

"Hey there, doofus," she murmured, smiling softly.

He stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering. "Mary?" his drugged and slurring voice, complete with wheezing, asked as he looked around for her.

"Yeah, it's me," she replied, squeezing his hand. "Who else? Unless you know some other girl who'd want to sneak into your hospital room in the middle of the night just to hold your hand…"

He smiled weakly, then laid his head back again, closing his eyes. "Stay," he rasped, clutching her hand.

"How? You're hooked up to every piece of machinery this hospital has and all bandaged like a mummy, and—"

"Please," he managed to interrupt, whispering. Stay."

She opened her mouth to respond, but found she couldn't. The raw need in his voice matched her own feelings so perfectly it made up her mind for her. Everything she had been feeling before faded, and her doubts washed away. She closed her mouth and nodded, even though he couldn't see it. She pushed herself carefully out of her wheelchair and shifted her IV stand out of the way, then climbed up onto his bed.

"This is going to get interesting, Marshall," she murmured, shifting wires and tubs and various other things. "We're going to have to be creative. Think you can handle that? I'll try not to hurt you, but I make no promises."

He smiled faintly and nodded, waiting. She pulled her IV stand next to the bed where his was, then tucked herself against his good side as best as she could with the limited space and IV tubes, trying to avoid her bad shoulder and his bandages. But eventually, she was settled enough and he pulled the blankets over her, still holding her hand.

As she lay there curled next to him, she decided that Eleanor was right, though she would never in a million years admit it: she would be an idiot to leave this man. And so she would stay, even though she knew her instinct was to run. She would stick around because she needed Marshall more than he needed her, and because, quite frankly, she was a little terrified of a life without him.

She fit her head gently into the crook of his neck and shoulder "I love you," she breathed, pressing her lips into the cool skin.

He sighed, and squeezed her hand tightly in response.

That was all she needed.

Fingers entwined, bodies squished into one tiny hospital bed, the two fell asleep, safe and comfortable as long as they had each other.

It was only a day and a half before the doctors decided Mary was well enough to leave, much to her delight, and two after that before they gave in and let her take Marshall, under strict orders about his care.

Mary pretty much ignored it all. Marshall knew what to do and he would tell her, and that was all she needed to know.

Now they were free! Well, aside from having to change bandages over certain oozing and scabbing bits of them, but no more doctors or nurses or creepy orderlies. They were back to being regular, albeit tired and slower moving, people.

They opted to take a walk through the little grove the hospital had before leaving, mostly because Marshall wanted to see it and Mary was in a rare mood to let him.

"Let's sit," he suggested after a while as they approached a bench.

They did so, sitting close together. Marshall put an arm around Mary, and she leaned her head against him, playing with his other hand.

"So," Mary said softly, threading her fingers through his.

Marshall waited a heartbeat, then replied, "So…what?"

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "So now what do we do?"

"Go home, go back to work, protect witnesses, save the world…" He shrugged. "You know, the regular."

She smiled. "Yeah…but what do _we_ do?"

He stilled and grew pensive. "Ah, you mean _us_."

She nodded against him.

"Well," he said with a small sigh, "the way I see it, we have three options: Option A. Ignore what has passed between us and keep going as we were before."

Mary snorted. "NEXT!"

Marshall smiled and pulled her closer. "My thoughts exactly. Option B. Start where we are and see where we go. Or Option C..." He trailed off, the hesitation palpable.

She looked up at him. "Option C is…?"

He cleared his throat a little uncomfortably, then said, "Option C. You can just come home with me right now and forget about everything else."

Mary grinned at his awkwardness and pushed slightly away from him. She reached up and gently brushed his hair away from his forehead, then pressed her lips to the cut below his eye. "D," she whispered.

He reared back, momentarily stunned by her lips on his cheek. "D?"

"There's always a D. Option D: Both B and C."

A slow grin started on Marshall's face. "Really?"

Mary laughed at his little boy excitement. "Really, Marshal Marshall. Option D, because I refuse to ignore this any more. Because I really want to see where this goes. Because I really _really_ want to go home with you right now and forget everything else. Because I'm not sleeping alone ever again and neither are you. Because, despite my best efforts, you love me and I love you and the rest of the world can just go to hell."

He cupped her cheeks softly, his eyes so full of love that it actually took her breath away. "I love you, Mary Shannon."

She wanted to say something clever, send out a quip, make a smart comment about his sentimental side, but all she could do was say, "I love you, too," and then his lips were on hers, softly coaxing her, then suddenly demanding she yield to him.

She remembered thinking, _Wow, he really is good_, before she stopped thinking altogether, and willingly gave in.

And everything that followed was _well_ worth the wait.

* * *

**Sighhhhhhhh...that was so fun for me. Hope it was for you! ...Okay, I may have lied a teensy bit. I have an epilogue in the works, because I am totally an epilogue person, but I want your reviews and votes. Yay for the epilogue, or nay, I've done enough. Let me know, and I just might take it under consideration! =)**


	14. Chapter 14

Ok, so I can't resist. EPILOGUE TIME! Cuz I'm an epilogue kind of girl. Enjoy! And this REALLY is the end now, I promise!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own much, so no, I don't own this.

* * *

"Mary, I'm serious. Go home."

She glared at her partner with so much venom that it should have sent him cowering, but somehow, he managed to stay firm. The time as her husband had started to take away his softness. Not completely, because that would also take away what made him Marshall, but enough that he stood up to her more than she liked. "Marshall, stop fussing like a freaking mother hen. I'm fine. I'm even sitting down, see?" She spread her arms out wide, as if offering herself for inspection.

He did not look remotely convinced. "The doctor said the baby could come any time in the next two weeks, Mare. You need to take things carefully now, in order to preserve your energy for labor and delivery. The strength and ability of the mother to safely and efficiently deliver the child has been proven to have a correlation to the overall well being of said child. And considering the fact that we want our baby to be above the norm—"

"Hey, doofus, need I remind you who is carrying _our_ baby?" she interrupted, rubbing her hand absently over the huge bump in her torso. "Or who has been carrying said baby for 8 freaking months? I think Junior here knows what he or she is getting into, we've gotten pretty close, you know."

Marshall softened and came over to her desk and put his hands on top of hers, covering her belly. "I know, I know. I just want you both to be safe and healthy. You being here is not restful."

"Being at home isn't going to make things better," she said with a faint smile. "I go crazy by myself with nothing to do, you know that."

He sighed and looked into her eyes. "Fine. What if I come home with you after lunch? Will you promise to take it easy then?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Only if you become my slave."

He tilted his head to one side, a small grin playing on his face. "Aren't I always?"

She smiled fondly. "It is part of your job description, isn't it? Don't husband and slave mean the same thing in some language somewhere?"

His grin turned rueful and he kissed her gently, lingering.

"All right, I've told you two time and time again to keep it out of the office," Stan grumbled as he came into the office. He walked over to Eleanor and kissed her cheek, then hung up his coat.

Mary snorted and shook her head. "You first, boss. Get a room."

Eleanor glanced over and rolled her eyes. "Oh, like that helped you?"

Marshall chuckled and got to his feet. "Play nice, girls. Remember, just until lunch, and then we are going home."

"Promise?" Mary asked, her tone innocent enough, but her eyes not at all.

Her husband cleared his throat hastily and shuffled off to his desk, leaving Mary to laugh to herself. Strong though her husband may be, she was stronger.

It was around an hour later when Mary had had enough of sitting. Her back ached, her feet ached, and her belly…well, it was _there_, which made her whole body ache. She awkwardly stood and walked—or waddled, as it seemed to be—around the office, stretching out as best as she could. She could feel Marshall's eyes on her, and turned to give him an exaggerated wave.

He smiled faintly, then nodded and went back to his work.

She rolled her eyes and smiled to herself. He was such a ninny. This baby was…

A sudden rushing of liquid stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks. She looked down, swallowed, then called, "Marshall? You're not going to like this…"

"What did you do?" he asked distractedly, not looking up from his work.

She grimaced as the pain started. "I think my water just broke."

All movement and work in the office stopped as the entire room fell silent.

Marshall looked up at her, his face horror-struck. "Are you sure?" she saw him say, more than she heard him.

"Pretty sure," she quipped, gripping her belly as another sharp pain hit. "That or my bladder just exploded all over the floor."

The office burst into action as Marshall jumped up from his desk and ran to her, Stan set rookies to clean up the mess, and Eleanor called emergency response. Over Mary's protests, they forced her to take an ambulance, as it would be impossible to tell just how far progressed she was until they got to the hospital, and as Eleanor so sagely put it, "No one wants to see you have a baby here in the office."

The ride to the hospital was a painful experience. Almost form the moment Mary stepped inside the ambulance, her contractions picked up in both frequency and intensity, which rewarded the EMTs with some of her more colorful language. Marshall did what he could, but even he couldn't quell her repeated snaps to him about calming down and shutting up. He fussed, he fidgeted, he worried, and it drove her crazy. Even so, Mary was the one that refused to let go of his hand throughout the ride.

Once at the hospital, she was rushed up to a room, only to be told that she was already dilated to 5 cm, and, given the rapidity of her contractions, it was too late for any sort of epidural. Again, Mary's extensive skills of issuing threats and expressing rarely used vocabulary were showcased, but beyond her screaming for the doctor, demanding drugs, and begging that someone just take the baby out, things seemed to be progressing without difficulty.

Marshall Mann had seen his wife and partner do many things that surprised him, had seen her endure many things that had impressed him, and had seen her charge into things that frankly terrified him. But until he saw her in the midst of labor pains did he truly understand what fear was or how incredible this woman he loved was.

"Marshall!" she yelled, clenching his hand in a vice-like grip that probably broke a few metacarpals. "If you _ever_ do this to me again, I will put your head on a spit in the front yard and watch the animals feast upon your rotting flesh!"

"Lovely, sweetie," he murmured, brushing her hair back.

She groaned against another contraction and her hold on his hand spasmed painfully.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he soothed, kissing her hand softly. "I won't ever touch you again, if you want."

"No, that's _not_ what I want," she managed between clenched teeth. "You're too damn good, it'd be a shame to waste you. Just don't knock me up again!"

He laughed out loud, and kissed her brow. "Whatever you say, Mare."

Just then, the doctor entered the room, smiling in spite of Mary's glower. "Well, let's get this party under way, shall we?"

* * *

Stan was pacing frantically in the waiting room, and it only took 20 minutes before it was driving Eleanor crazy.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Stan, you're acting like these are your kids in there!"

He stopped and looked at her. "They are," he said softly.

That took the wind right out of her sails, and her irritation vanished as Eleanor felt her heart melt a little at his expression. She smiled softly and patted the seat next to her. "Come sit by me, Stan. We can worry together."

He nodded and took it, then picked up her hand and rubbed it between his own.

She smiled at the gesture, and he returned it, then started worrying again, his brow furrowing.

Their smiles faded only slightly as Mary's mother, sister, and brother-in-law entered the waiting room, looking frantic but excited. As calmly as anyone can, he explained that Mary only wanted Marshall with her, and they would have to wait. And so the five sat in the waiting room together, all a family in these few moments, waiting.

* * *

"Okay, Mary, just one more push," the doctor urged from under her. "Push one more time and I think the head will be out."

"You push one more time!" she barked, going up on her elbows. "Better yet, how about I push you out of that freaking window down into the freaking parking lot?"

"Mare," Marshall soothed softly, wiping the perspiration off of her brow.

The doctor grinned up at him. "I've had worse, believe me." He ducked back down. "Okay, Mary, push!"

Letting loose a cry that seemed to come from her very core, Mary pushed with all of her strength, bearing down hard.

"Good! Good, here it comes!" the doctor crowed. "Okay, the head is out! Easy, easy, Mary. Ok, little push now, little push…Good girl…and we're done!"

What the most beautiful sound in the world was, Mary had never considered. That was something she imagined someone like Marshall would spend some time thinking about, not her. But the moment she heard that cry fill the air, that loud, furious wailing, she knew exactly what it was.

"It's a girl!" Marshall cried, laughing exuberantly.

A little girl. Mary saw the beautiful, squalling baby girl as the doctor laid her on her now deflated stomach. The thick, brown hair covering her tiny head was entirely Marshall, but the anger, the mad flailing of fists, that was hers. She reached out to touch one tiny hand as the nurses went to work cleaning her up.

"Hey pretty girl," Mary whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Impossibly, her daughter responded, gripping her finger tip, and only marginally quieting.

"It's cold, huh?" Mary smiled softly. "Don't worry, they'll fix that soon. You think you've had a rough day? Mommy's exhausted, and it's all your fault. Yours and your daddy's."

Marshall chuckled quietly and kissed Mary's head. "Guilty as charged," he said, his voice quivering.

"But it was worth it," Mary whispered, as Marshall cut the cord, and the nurses took the baby away for a quick bath and blanket. She watched them, unable to take her eyes away from her daughter. "It was so worth it."

"She's beautiful, Mary," Marshall said, kissing her hands, then her lips gently.

"I know. I know." She cupped his face and kissed him once more. "Thank you."

He grinned cheekily. "Anytime. My part was pretty nice, so anytime you're ready to go again…"

She rolled her eyes and slapped his face gently. "C'mon, doofus, I just popped her out, and you're thinking of round two? I could shoot you right now, if I wasn't in this strangely delirious mood. Gimme a while, like a long while, and _maybe_ we'll discuss the _possibility _of you giving me more."

"I'll give you a hundred," he started, then paused as the baby was brought back and put into his arms, "if it will give us moments like this," he finished, his eyes filling with unshed tears.

Mary opened her arms and Marshall tucked their daughter into them, then sat on the edge of the bed, his arm around them both. He took his daughter's tiny hand in his own.

"Hey, precious, I'm your daddy."

The baby shifted closer to Mary, making a small squeaking noise that brought a smile to her parents' faces.

"Yeah, he has that effect on people," Mary told her. Then she smiled up at Marshall. "But he really grows on you. He's great big dork, but you'll love him."

He returned her smile and pulled her closer, touching his head to hers.

"Congrats, parents. That is a beautiful little girl you've got there. What's her name going to be?" the doctor asked, wiping his hands off on a towel.

"Mare?" Marshall asked, looking down at her.

She met his eyes. "We only talked about boys. I never thought…" She looked down at the little girl, for a moment, then back up at Marshall. "What do you like?"

"I like Alexa, always have, but if you like something else…" He trailed off, giving her an opening.

She considered for a moment, then nodded. "Alexa. I like it." She brushed her daughter's hair with one finger. "Alexa Emily, after your mom."

Marshall grinned. "She'll love that." His grin suddenly turned mischievous. "Not Jinx?"

She snorted. "She already has to be related to her, why make things worse? No, Alexa Emily Mann." She pressed a soft kiss to her daughter's brow. "Hello, baby Alexa." She looked up at her husband. "What does it mean?"

"Alexa? It means 'defender'."

She smiled and touched his cheek again, stroking it softly. "It's perfect."

Marshall leaned down and kissed his wife gently, thinking that he was a very fortunate man. Everything about his life was perfect, even when it wasn't. Looking down at his beautiful wife who kept his life more exciting, adventurous, and wonderful than he'd ever thought it could be, and at his new daughter, who left him scared, awed, and blissfully happy all at the same time, Marshall wondered how anything could ever go wrong in his life.

"It is perfect," he echoed softly.

Mary met his eyes and grinned. "You're getting sentimental again, aren't you?"

He shrugged, unable to speak.

She took his hand and laced her fingers through his. "You're such a girl, you know that?"

He laughed. "Yeah, well, I guess I fit in with the family now, huh? Besides, you love me anyway."

The light in her smile took his breath away, as it never failed to. "Guess you've got me there." She sighed, and looked at the door. "Think we can run away before the whole gang flocks over here and ruins this moment and I have to pretend like I'm not beyond exhausted and only want to shoot anyone that's not you?"

"Probably not, Mare, but I'll be quick to get them out."

"Promise?" she asked, looking suspicious. "I know you want to make a big deal out of Alexa."

"I do," he conceded with a sheepish grin, "but not right now. That all can wait."

"Promise me," she insisted, still unconvinced.

"I promise," he assured her, kissing her brow as he got off of the bed, "but only because I love you." And with one brilliant grin, he left to get the family in the waiting room.

Mary sighed and looked down at her daughter. "Well, Squeaker, looks like we're gonna get interrupted here, and then your life will never be quiet again. But before that happens, you just need to know one thing: your daddy and I live a dangerous life, and we work with crazy people that we—well, I—want to shoot more often than not, but we've made it through because we've got each other's backs all the time. No matter what happens, we'll be here for you. You're stuck with us, Squeaker, so you'll just have to get used to the idea."

Alexa nuzzled closer, bringing a smile to her mother's face. She didn't realize that the love she felt for Marshall could grow any more, but seeing this little baby who already was destined to look more like him than her, she couldn't deny that it did.

She saw him in the doorway, grinning proudly, and she tried to roll her eyes, but the tears made it difficult.

"They're coming," he said as he came to her, smoothing her hair back.

She sniffed back the tears. "I don't even care."

His eyebrows lifted. "You don't?"

She shook her head. "I have you. We have her. I really don't care about anything else."

"Now who's sentimental?" he teased, but his eyes told her just how touched he was.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me, Marshall," she growled, smiling.

"Whatever you say, Mare," he quipped, bringing his lips to hers once more.

* * *

**YAY! I'm sorry, I am ALL about epilogues. And if the whole labor thing seemed a bit rushed, sorry. That's pretty much exactly how it worked for my mom with all of her kids. I know, it's not fair. As for Alexa's name, I must put some thanks towards my friend slumbajam who suggested it, and only after did we discover what it meant. True story. Tres cute, no? Hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my little Mary/Marshall world. Review if you like, and I'll see y'all at the next one! =) Thanks for sticking with it!**


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